


What Castle Saw

by SoupShue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Castle is REALLY angry at Dumbledore, Castle is sort of angry at the world, Dumbledore is a bumblemore, How Do I Tag, I do not know how to tag, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi, canon typical angst, house elves are people too, mentions of bullying, there is a ton of cleanup work to do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupShue/pseuds/SoupShue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can't think of any other ways to reiterate that this is Badger's world, I am simply playing in it. I have permission. Read Smoke first, not only is Smoke awesome, but Smoke will help make this work make sense. Also, blame Castle if anything doesn't mesh 100% with Smoke, I promise Badger is kept fully aware of the differences and changes that were or are being made. </p>
<p>This is what happened to Castle. This is what happened to Hogwarts after Castle woke up. This is the aftermath of the Final Battle, the clean up the coping and the carrying on. This is what happens when the walls CAN talk, the hallways change, the statues stroll. This is how Castle used to be and how Castle was, and how Castle is now. This is Castle's story. This is what Castle saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castle Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



         For long years untold Castle had rested contentedly, softly cradling and aiding those young ones learning in the classrooms, pranking in the halls, crying and laughing and living exuberant lives, the Castle loved to listen to the limitless hopes and impossible dreams of the students of Hogwarts. Castle shivered in triumph for their victories and discoveries, warmed for their loves burning ardent, cooled for their griefs and their losses. Castle challenged and rejoiced at the antics of the adventurous and daring Gryffindors, nurtured the caring quietly brave spirit of the Hufflepuffs, thwarted many a cunning and nefarious attempt at mischief from the Slytherins, and aided ambitious Ravenclaws with complex magical workings. Castle was alive. Like many buildings owned by Wizarding families, Castle had always been a little special and only grew more special as time ensured that every stone was steeped in magic. For as long as Castle had been in Mistress Rowena’s family, Castle had been just a little more bright more beautiful more aware. But when Castle became Hogwarts’ home, Castle became itself, on the day that The Four sat down in front of the hearth of the Great Room and made a vow, made their plans and dreamt, they were unaware that their Four had become Five. Ravenclaw Manor had become Castle. Castle was so much more than just a fancy bespelled ceiling and a Room of Requirement. Castle was a hearth and a home, a place of learning and living and loving and laughter, a sanctuary for the needy and a challenge for the great. Castle was mysterious and intelligent and fierce.

         And, quite unfairly, abruptly, unjustly. Quite rudely, Castle had been caged.

         Albus Dumbledore was not the Headmaster Castle would have chosen, he had only wanted the position for the power and the prestige. If he had been any different, he would indeed have been the greatest of the human caretakers ever to have graced Castle’s halls, but he was not. Albus Dumbledore had been deaf and blind to any and all but his own ambitious and lofty goals, for a bright boy, he refused to believe that Castle understood what he wished what he wanted, who he was. He chose not to listen to Castle’s complaints and gentle warnings and forged ahead with dangerous casting and charms. Headmaster was irritated at Beccos for announcing the presence of students and staff at his door and bade him rather impolitely to be silent unless it was critically important. He was angry with Beccos for voicing opinions of his work and his motives for taking the job and irritated at Beccos for reporting on the worst of the rule breakers and furious at Castle for protecting those children that became victims of anything that was not simple lighthearted tomfoolery. He refused to do his duty as Headmaster and step in when Castle reported that one of his students had been made unsafe. Headmaster became riotously angry when Beccos informed him that several of Castle's suits of armor put a stop to the behavior, he had snapped at Beccos that it was not Castle’s place to punish students. That was the evening he had used his wand on Castle’s most Beloved Voice and bound it.

         Castle had not taken kindly to that binding of Castle’s mouthpiece and so Headmaster grew frustrated as Peeves became ever increasingly Peevish and destroyed belongings in his office, he failed to take notice of exactly when the ghosts and the house elves stopped respecting him and did only the bare minimum to respect his position. Headmaster became annoyed when Castle shifted key pieces of his equipment to inauspicious locations at bad times to disrupt harmful spell work. He lost his footing on agitated stairwells, he bumped his head on suddenly short doorframes. Headmaster tripped over rugs and smashed into sharp corners and grew ever angrier and angrier. He finally began numbing key pieces of Castle’s core.

         It took him many attempts and many different layers of spells, but he finally managed to still Castle, keep her stiff and silent and arthritic and feeling every moment of her immense age and history. Cut off slowly from the ghosts and the portraits and the bastion of House Elves that were as much a part of Castle as they were separate from her, Castle’s conscious awareness was forced back and back like the ebbing tide until the bulk of Castle’s greatest abilities were locked away in the very first cornerstone of Castle’s foundation. A cornerstone so ancient and hidden that even the “great” Albus Dumbledore could not find it, or Castle had no doubt he would have attempted to destroy it. Imprisoned there, Castle grew ever more grieved. Forced by a cruel and complex net of spells into merely watching, drowsy, but aware of the nasty things that went on. Castle became unable to warn of trouble or aid in the defense of the students unless it was calamity of a most dire and grievous sort- and even then only under direct order from the Headmaster.

         The Ravenclaws began unhappily reporting that they experienced strange phenomena with their advanced potions and charms as Castle lost the ability to aid with auspicious locations for spells and the portraits lost the ability to tap into the Castle’s vast knowledge and memory, and began struggling to comment freely with helpful suggestions and hints. Their frantic research into the cause yielded few results as the tower became cooler and drier and draftier, and some students began to quietly complain that the air felt different, smelt different, even acted differently. Some of the most coveted and coziest reading nooks in the Ravenclaw tower became harder and harder to find before one or two disappeared altogether, it was painful for Castle when some of the Ravenclaws cried over their loss. The knocker on the Common Room door began to only offer riddles where once it had been a confidant, the Gray Lady retreated from the tower’s Common Room and became more and more shy, less quick to offer helpful advice. One or two of the magically replenishing bookshelves lost the ability to access the oldest sections of the library, Headmaster actually appeared to notice that one for a brief moment if only because it caused a fist fight when a poor third year had been accused of stealing the books- theft of knowledge was no laughing matter to Ravenclaw.

          The Slytherins kicked up a fuss over how their common room floor was getting colder and colder and they had to continually keep a fire in their hearth even in the warmer months while replenishing the warming charms and keep throw rugs down to ward off the damp and the chill that filled the Common Room. Many complained about the strange moldy and dirty odor that began to linger in the air, the damp, raw drafts that began to kick up almost constantly, the chill that seeped through the walls. They immediately noticed it was becoming more difficult to navigate through the labyrinth of old prison cells turned into classrooms and offices, how the hallways were becoming darker than normal and some became treacherous with slime and developed odd variations in slope. One by one the younger students noticed their hiding spots were disappearing and the general atmosphere of the spaces that used to make them feel safe began to leech slowly away to a depressing sort of lonely malaise. The portraits that had been placed in the dungeons slowly stopped reprimanding the Slytherins that got too out of line, the suits of armor that used to spring to life in defense of someone experiencing physical harm got more and more sluggish until they stopped moving altogether, the Bloody Baron became much more silent and bloodthirsty and angry. Castle was enraged with this change and the interventions of the House Elves slowly stopped as the more entitled Slytherins began treating them as their cousins were treated in the great Manors of old blood.

         Hufflepuff House reported the fewest changes to their living space, though their common room lost the homey smell of mulled wine and burning Applewood and their favorite retreats became harder and harder to access, it remained much unchanged. The Fat Friar’s especially kind demeanor was still there if he became slower to offer comfort and advice, the portraits got quieter and quieter and began sticking to a script of sorts, the general temperature and atmosphere of their dorm rooms was much the same even if they did have to lay down a few more rugs because the floor was unusually cool. Where the Hufflepuffs felt the loss of Castle’s support was in the hallways and the grounds. The House Elves started to shy away from them, their most used hiding spots and shortcuts vanished, the hedges and low hills that they had often used as retreats began to subtly change and shift, a few gardens actually up and moved around so that they couldn’t be accessed by the usual methods. The Forest slowly got more and more dangerous to venture into, the small and delightful woodland creatures of both magical and non-magical varieties began to disappear, the Centaurs began venturing closer and closer to the Castle Grounds and there were strange shadows moving about in the night. Eventually they had to stop going very far into the trees, and Headmaster made it The Forbidden Forest for the first time.

         The Whomping Willow began to get extremely restless and aggressive and every living thing on the grounds besides the grass began to give it a very wide berth. The students found that their most ardent defenders among the portraits and the statues slowly stopped defending them, and more and more of them noticed the gentle teasing of their classmates taking on a darker, sharper edge. It was a very keen loss. Castle wailed. Castle’s distress was loud enough for Headmaster to hear it and angrily renew the silencing spells he had cast until Castle was quiet again. The average temperature in the Headmaster’s office dropped another ten degrees, Headmaster said nothing as he moved his pet phoenix from his bedroom to his study.

         Adventurous Gryffindors searched in vain for the mysterious passageways and rooms with playfully confrontational statues that they used to frequent. The trap doors and hidden stairways inexplicably moved. The obstacle course that had been a staple to the often active and rambunctious tricksters became less and less of a challenge before it reverted to a simple sunlit sitting room to much outraged disgust. Nearly Headless Nick began to complain continually about the state of his nearly-headlessness and stopped offering helpful suggestions and hints about adventures and quests that the Gryffindor students could safely go on. Some of the hallways actually became dangerous and many more Gryffindor students showed up to their Common Room with bruises and scrapes and nasty, bright expressions in their eyes. They enacted dangerous and terrifying stunts and their restless inactivity prompted them to pull petty teasing tricks on their fellow students. Headmaster did not do anything to control the behavior. Castle sighed.

         For twenty years, Castle was saddened and disgruntled, angry and mourning, fitfully and uneasily resting in confinement. The House Elves did what they could for Castle, slowly and carefully dissolving and changing the charms that had been placed upon the formidable fortress to turn Castle into a grave shadow of Castle’s former glory ever so slowly giving Castle back a bit of strength and ability, though Headmaster Dumbledore tirelessly searched out all references to Castle’s true nature and hid them deep. Headmaster became ever more arrogant in his quest for supremacy, his thirst for any knowledge that would give him more prestige and power and control. He began to play chess games with his students and his staff, delighted when he gained praise and honor for it. Far below his feet, at the very heart of Castle’s self, Castle seethed and waited. Castle could not be caged forever, one day Castle would be free, and on that day there would be repayment for Castle’s chains. For twenty years Castle was upset, but content to bide time and wait. For twenty years there was uneasy peace within Hogwarts’ halls, for twenty years the rumors of Castle’s true potential faded into distant recollection and myth.

         It was then that a solemn, hurting, lonely boy by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle came through the doors of the Great Hall and sat on the stool for the Sorting Hat to be placed on his young dark haired head. In that moment Castle’s torturous nightmare began. Castle saw Tom Riddle’s pain, the flimsy quest for meaning, the hunger for acceptance and prestige and honor. A dark and terrible desire to exact retribution for all of Tom Riddle’s hurts and losses. Castle saw the twin flares of recognition and excitement and dark scheming- Tom’s skillfully buried cunning and Headmaster’s glee, the careful grooming and manipulation from both parties. Castle saw the chess board laid out and Castle screamed in agony at the likelihood of a terrible and horrible outcome. Tom Riddle may only have been eleven years old, but Tom Riddle was a master at manipulation. Castle knew in that moment looking through the Sorting Hat that there were dark days ahead, and Castle could do almost NOTHING to stop it.

        Below the Great Hall, in the kitchens, the house elf Tas had snapped his head up from basting a ham roast and scurried over to the Touchstone embedded in the wall. He gripped his chest with one small, thin, shaking hand at the tiny beads of water forming on it. His large eyes grew even more pronounced as he reached out to carefully stroke the round, glass smooth icy cold surface, felt the ominous faint shivering and immediately called the attention of the rest of the assembled House Elves. A heavy, aching pain had settled over the kitchens for a brief moment before the assembly whispered solemnly, faintly, almost as one “we will do what we can Great Lady, we will do what we can.” They looked at one another with sad, haunted eyes as far below them Castle’s heart began to quiver and collect condensation, they all knew it would not be enough. 

        When the heir of Salazar Slytherin was not made a ward of the school, Castle was grieved. When the gift of the **_Sanctuarium Saecula_** was withheld from the troubled young boy, when its knowledge was buried with a ruthless fist for fear of freeing Castle from the net of carefully laid spells in an instance where it would have done much good, Castle trembled. Castle was forced to watch warily with a heavy sense of foreboding as the heir to Salazar Slytherin began to change, unhindered and unaided by those who had been sworn to protect him. When vicious pranks turned to heartless punishments and teasing soured to torture, Castle raged at the inability to intervene on behalf of the student victims. When the young boy grew to a harsh, angry young man who lacked guidance and security and a righteous cause, Castle raged. When the heir to Salazar Slytherin learned of his heritage and searched for the Chamber, Castle mourned that the Chamber could not be sealed until it was safe. When Tom Riddle FOUND the Chamber, Castle wanted to shake the very foundations with terror and frustration and ire, to topple the Chamber and kill the wild card of Castle’s many defenses. The resulting faint tremble alerted Headmaster, but he only smiled and stroked his hands together holed up in his office staring at ancient tomes of magic. He silenced the Portraits that warned him of the danger and shushed a reeling Fawkes. Castle despaired as students were petrified and the Headmaster did nothing. Castle trembled with weary dread as Hagrid brought the spider Aragog to Hogwarts and Tom Marvolo Riddle manipulated him into taking the blame and the punishment. Castle seethed as Headmaster looked on and blessed his own machinations in the plot. Castle mourned at the unnecessary loss of human life that turned Tom Riddle down the irrevocable path to searching for ultimate control and power, the path to becoming the Dark Lord. Castle screamed in unbridled vexation when Headmaster callously dismissed the bright young life of a lovely, lonely little girl and trapped her as an unhappy ghost in the washroom where she died. Castle knew that this was only the beginning and Castle was immobilized and unable to do anything at all to halt the tide.

         Castle was very unhappy.

         Castle only became more and more distressed with each passing year, there was a special sorrow for Castle. Even when uneasy peace seemed to settle once again over the land, Castle whispered softly _‘not the end, not the end, not the end’_ and the House Elves looked at one another and shivered and the ghosts were somber and silent, the portraits waiting in nervous anticipation. Castle saw the machinations of the Dark Lord arise again within Castle’s walls, heard the furtive moves of wizard’s chess played with living breathing wizards and witches, absorbed the agony and the fear and the terror with disgust. Uneasy watchful gloom filled the halls of Hogwarts School. There was still much joy and excitement, many victories and losses, loves gained and loves lost and lifelong memories made, but the true depth of atmosphere that Castle once lent to the fragile witches and wizards that graced the halls was gone.

         When another wide eyed somber dark haired boy entered the Great Hall and the Sorting Hat was set upon his head, Castle sighed at the similarities betwixt him and poor Tom. Castle promptly fumed at the bright eyed gleam in Dumbledore’s eye, it was a look Castle recognized well. Harry James Potter. A saddened boy, neglected and mistreated and alone. Touched by a fateful curse that Castle would recognize anywhere, plenty of unfortunate students and house elves had borne the marks of Tom Riddle’s wand when he had been an ambitious third year learning the ins and outs of creating spells and charms. Another of the many students who had entered these halls who would have benefited from a bit of compassion and sanctuary, another student who would be denied.

         There was very little Castle could do locked up in the first cornerstone, but Castle gave the Sorting Hat two tiny, fateful nudges.

         “Gryffindor!” The hat had cried twice when its first instinct was another House. It cried out once for a curly headed, wildly fierce, shockingly intelligent Hermione Granger, a witch who would have thrived in Ravenclaw. Again the hat called out to send Potter on his way to an ecstatic Gryffindor table. It wouldn’t be for several years that young Harry would learn how close he’d come to being sorted into Slytherin House, a decision that would have made the chess game already in play between he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle and the Headmaster even more devastating. It would be less than forty eight hours before Hermione Granger sat upon a couch in the Gryffindor common room and questioned the validity of the sorting method. It would not be for several more years after most of the dust had settled and the echoes of that horrid chess game slowly quieted down into the faint echoes of History that Hermione would shudder at the thoughts of what might have been had she been placed in Ravenclaw’s house.

         There was much more that made Castle upset as many terrible things began to happen. Castle shook the spells put in place to hold the portraits mostly silent, got more and more movement in certain places, partly due to Dumbledore’s permission and partly due to the frantic spell work of the house elves as they sensed a drawing near to the end of the game. Castle got quite a bit of freedom when Dumbledore allowed himself to be cursed to force Severus’s hands into his still living blood with an Unbreakable Vow, enough freedom to slow the Malfoy boy down a little, enough to interfere with the repairs to the cabinet. Just enough freedom to reactivate wards that Dumbledore and he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle knew nothing of and could not counter against. Just enough freedom to offer the smallest of assistances and watch how they changed the outcome of the final match. When the Headmaster died at the hands of the killing curse, some of Castle’s chains were snapped. Not the chains that would have done Castle the most good in the final fight, not even the chains that would have put a stop to the torture and brutality brought down on the students by Alecto and Amycus Carrow. The chains that were broken did allow Castle to protect the students and house elves who were singled out by the Carrows and ensure that they escaped death even if they did not fully escape all of the pain and suffering. Castle woke the portrait hanging in Hogsmead and made a safe way out of Hogwarts, Castle shored up the Room of Requirement and nearly glowed with pride when Longbottom figured out a way around Castle's remaining chains. Assistant Headmistress McGonnagall's commands to Castle ensured that the corridors could confuse a few wayward Death Eaters trying to creep around during the chaos and that some students were spared a gruesome death by vigilant and self sacrificing statues. Her commands roused Castle enough that Castle ensured Fenrir Greyback died. Not enough for Castle to aid the way that the Castle wanted to aid in the Final Battle. Castle was frustrated, but Castle was one good spell away from being awake, Castle could hardly wait.


	2. Castle Wakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headmaster Snape didn't mean to, but his accidental spell got him much more than he ever would have dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue at the beginning of the chapter for Snape taken from chapter 18 of Smoke

          "Yes. She does. Here." He drank. "Hermione Granger and Smoke are the only reasons I'm alive today. Had she been one instant later, Pettigrew would have killed me. On top of that…on top of that, the last few weeks before the end, I might well have gone mad without Smoke, Minerva. I was on the verge of nervous breakdown when it all fell about. Hermione Granger has a home at Hogwarts, now and ever, sanctuarium saecula, by my word as Headmaster."

        At last! At long, long last, Castle was freed.

        With those heartfelt words, with the _Sanctuarium_ bound by Snape’s honor as Headmaster of Hogwarts, the very spell that the chessmaster Albus Dumbledore had tried to fade out of existence for all eternity, with those bright and beautiful words the last of the vicious spell net woven to contain was rent and Castle woke up. Aware, but disoriented after the long confinement, Castle’s power rushed headlong into every stone, crack, and crevice it had been so long denied with the force of a tsunami. A violent rushing wind filled the air throughout every corridor and hallway and passage from topmost attic to deepest cellar, from the greenhouses through the owlry. The floors and walls trembled and shivered with the ringing quake of a low, bass hum like the strike of a very large gong. A ringing cacophony of noise like the echoes of long ended battles, shouts of triumph, cries of pain, screeches of indignation, the heavy hearted weeping of loss and grief and anguish, cheers of joy and soothing whispers- the noise made every living witch and wizard in residence shiver and startle, looking around for a cause.

         The house elves going about cleaning duties looked up at one another and knowingly grinned. The ghosts perked up at the first telling high pitched note- nodding sagely to one another and the nearby portraits- filled with gladness and welcome as they passed through quaking walls on their way to the Deputy Headmaster’s Office where Headmaster Snape was currently ensconced. In the workrooms and kitchens the house elves hugged each other and cheered, tittering and dancing as they stroked the ancient stones of the walls and tapped tiny, nimble feet on the time smoothed floors, noticing the change immediately. All of the portraits (save one who quietly moved off and let their viciously shaking frame fade to black- it nearly fell off the wall for a moment before settling crooked) began to scurry back and forth and chatter, clapping one another on the back and toasting one another with goblets and flagons.

         When the full force of Castle’s awareness slammed through them, all of the statues shouted in unison, the portraits jolted and let out loud cries of shocked joy, the frescoes in the Heads of House’s offices burst to life, gasping and stunned from their long frozen state. Targes the Gryphon carved over Minerva’s office window shrieked for a moment clacking his beak and ruffling his carved feathers in his fresco, the noise of his exaltation and the muffled clinking of the stone feathers as they moved was drowned out by the mighty roar of Ostiarius waking below their feet. Headmaster Snape and Deputy Headmaster Minerva failed to notice his sudden, if limited mobility as they rushed for the door.

         For the first time in seventy years, with the death of the old Headmaster and the dedication and heartfelt invocation of the _Sanctuarium Saecula_ by Headmaster Snape, the Castle was fully awake and in possession of all of Castle’s faculties. The power and freedom and full awareness and sense of **WE** was invigorating and confusing and intoxicating after the much too long denial. The Touchstone in the kitchens below the Great Hall flared to iridescent brilliance once again and warmed quickly shedding the fine layer of condensation that had too often been present on its surface. Tas in his comfortable seat by the roasting fires rose on shaking knees to hobble over to the stone. The moment his long, knobbly fingers smoothed over the surface, warmth and relaxation suffused through his entire body, an embrace from Castle and a gift to ease his aching and arthritic joints. His craggy, wrinkled face broke into a beaming grin, small happy tears dotted his cheeks and his whiskered, bat-like ears came to full attention on top of his head as he crowed out among the cheering youngsters.

         “Welcome back Great Lady!” All around the celebrating House Elves a gentle scent of fresh baked dark bread and pine boughs infused the kitchen, the temperature dropped to a cool and comfortable range and the sweeping sheets of humidity from all of the boiling pots dissipated in a fresh, lemony breeze as the heavy warm steam in the air gave way to an optimal crisp dryness for the working elves. Below their dancing feet the floor cooled and shivered and the entire workspace brightened as though they were out under a clear noon day sun. It was very good to be back Castle intoned, very good, indeed. There was much to be done to repair all that had been broken and damaged but Castle now had the power to act instead of lament in stagnation. For the first time in seventy years, Castle felt right. Grieved and damaged to be certain, but right.

         Castle was glad to see evidence of the Houses acting in unison once again when all four House ghosts and Peeves accepted Miss Granger as their own, blessing the decision of the Headmaster. Indeed, Severus Snape was already proving to be far better suited to the position than the haughty chessmaster who had come before him. Castle rattled the frame of that particular portrait hard as a warming thrill and the scent of fresh baked pecan pie came to the four House Ghosts and Peeves after the five of them finished swearing loyalty to the first of a new generation of those made _Sanctus Moenia._ Castle was very pleased that not all bridges had been irreparably burned, the spirit of the Founding Charter was still in place, the chessmaster could do nothing to erase it no matter how hard he had tried _._

        To Castle’s vast amusement, both of Hogwarts’ new caretakers were completely out of sorts for the rest of the night, and it was Castle’s new ward who finally cleared up what had transpired. Castle was pleased that Hermione was grateful for the honor and delighted to be able to show her all of the amazing secret special parts of Castle’s self that were reserved for wards. Privately, Castle thought it well that an adult should be made ward in her time of need, Castle would not have to rely on the House Elves if any of the other coming student Wards needed assistance in those places that even Headmaster would not access, not because he couldn’t but because the last wizard to have been made a _Sanctus Moenia_ was made so in 1918, at the start of the horrid Muggle World War I, ten years before Castle was fully bound- and Headmaster Snape would not even know to think of searching in those places for trouble.

        Castle roiled and stretched at the brilliant warmth coming back to all of the different pieces and parts to Castle’s self, the House Elves were busy aiding Castle in fully rousing the eldest parts of Castle’s many rooms, joyously sweeping away the dust and cobwebs and gloom that hung about the long abandoned places nestled within. Over the course of the night, many long forgotten nooks corridors and crannies began to reappear all over. A sun filled sitting room blossomed off of Pomona’s main living quarters filled with the small, flowering plants that gave off a delicate and fey scent she loved. A small bookshelf appeared packed to the brim with many of her favorite manuscripts and several that Castle was positive she would enjoy.

        Cracked and smashed pieces of stonework repaired themselves to their former glory, the suits of armor that had been broken, attacked and destroyed during the final battle reassembled, sections of ruined stone work tumbled back together flaring with soft yellow light as they repaired. Many portraits whose frames had not been irreparably broken reappeared with soft exclamations. Several of the Gryffindors’ favorite obstacle courses reappeared, the dueling room settled in to its old spot with a muffled grinding of stone, a thunk and the excited chatter of the carved knights within.

         With a whining groan, the slanted and uneven passageways in the dungeons evened out and all of the lower floors brightened and became more temperate and comfortable in much the way the kitchens had. All over the Castle, stained, torn and damaged rugs and wall hangings vanished, the average temperature of the Castle rose about twenty degrees, the morose damp chill that shrouded the lower levels and the Slytherin common room was shredded by a blast wave of warm, clean air. A bright and cheerful scent of drying linen and freshly mown grass erased the moldy stench that had been a staple in the lower levels of the Castle for a very long time. The portraits in the lower levels stretched and grinned at one another, the suits of armor shook off the paralysis from their limbs and began a leisurely patrol of the corridors once more. The Chamber of Secrets moved with the rasping, shushing sound of a large snake, disconnecting from the sewer system and reconnecting to a mostly forgotten section of the dungeons- there was no need for it to remain as part of the plumbing when the Basilisk was dead.

         A cheery scent of Applewood smoke filled the Hufflepuff common room, the Fat Friar let out an unrestrained chuckling belly laugh as some hardworking house elves dusted and tidied. Snuffles the Badger scratched lazily at the edges of his fresco as he blinked sleepily and yawned, this was a hibernation that was long even for one of his noble kindred. He stretched and flipped to his back for a moment waving all four paws in the air just because he could. The human witches and wizards would wonder at the signs of progress in the morning however small they were in the grand scheme of the repairs. Castle settled down on to Castle’s foundations, content and free. There was much to be done, much Castle could now do. Castle was free.

        The two large magically replenishing bookcases in the common room of Ravenclaw tower righted themselves, shaking and shuddering, books tumbling like dominoes as the connection to the first library was reopened and the beloved ancient texts settled into their rightful places once again. All of the reading nooks flared into existence with resounding chimes. In Filius’s House Office, Umbra gave a soft trilling hoot and shook free of the fresco while Hugin flapped his wings under the suddenly pearly luminescent full moon and looked on. Umbra flipped her stone tail and flapped madly for a moment, unsteady after long idleness before she evened out and then executed a perfect backwards aerial loop before flitting out the window to visit the owlry. A long overdue conversation with Castle’s owls was in order and it could not be delayed.

        Castle’s awareness flared through the Grounds like the creeping of a vine but at the speed of a brushfire driven before a strong wind, the energy causing some plants to bloom suddenly and flare to green growth. Paths immediately began smoothing out, developing well defined borders and straightening, widening and shifting subtly as certain hedges grew and certain ones shrank back. The gardens of wildflowers threw clouds of perfume into the night air and a few miles away, a fairy woke to the scent and smiled. The Whomping Willow shuddered slightly before drooping just a little out of its angrily vigilant stance, some of the smallest branches slowly curling in a bit and relaxing as the whole tree budded. The strange angles and steep hills that had developed over the course of the last seventy years while Castle had been unable to intervene slowly yielded to Castle’s stern orders.

        It would take time, but Castle would right this. Castle’s awareness brushed up against the edges of the Forbidden Forest and Castle drew up short. Something was not right. Something was very, very wrong. There was death and decay and evil magic. There was wild abandon and chaos and destruction. There was poison and anger and sadness and fear. Something was very, very wrong. It would need to be corrected. By the human wizards and witches, it would need the firm hand of the rightful Headmaster, Castle could not influence the Forest to do Castle’s bidding, even less now that Forest was so sick. There was much that was wrong here, very, very wrong. It would need to be addressed. Soon. Very soon. Castle shifted, Beccos woke with a nod; a nod that promised he would remind the Headmaster when there was an opportune moment.

        How glad Castle was that Castle’s most Beloved Voice was gifted back, too long had he been silenced. Too long had they all been silenced, too long had they been denied. It was a pity that the humans did not know Castle was awake, it would make everything much simpler when they realized, but Castle would not announce Castle’s awareness until things were a little more settled. It was best not to startle the flighty human wizards and witches living within Castle’s walls, startling them tended to end badly for Castle. Castle was good at waiting. Well, for certain things. Castle idly rattled the chessmaster’s portrait roughly. A pity he had passed beyond the veil and was out of Castle’s reach forevermore, Castle could do nothing to vent Castle’s considerable grief and rage at the chessmaster but work at repairing the considerable damage his machinations had wrought. Little but do everything in Castle’s power to ensure Castle was never bound in such a heinous manner ever again. Castle shook a particularly stubborn path straight to channel Castle’s frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sanctus Moenia: Latin. Literally translated "sanctuary of the walls" 
> 
> the implied definition is, of course, something more along the lines of "one who finds sanctuary in these walls"


	3. Castle Settles In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is much work to be done, Castle knows. Castle's keeping quiet because Castle's really not ready for a human wizard to try and bind Castle again. Not too quiet, because Castle likes Hagrid.

        Over the next few days Castle took stock of all the work that needed doing. There was extensive damage from the Final Battle to the grounds, the walls and the main congregating areas of Castle’s self to recover from. The years of general disrepair and disuse were easily adjusted and almost instantly erased when Castle woke- some of the plants, slopes and hills on the Grounds, however, were less quick to bend to Castle’s will and took careful coaxing, days of gentle adjustment and firm guidance, and in some cases harsh correction for Castle to begin to change them. One of the observation towers would not be quite safe for fragile human bodies to occupy for a while so Castle took on the bulk of that repair and restoration. Castle adjusted the most secret parts of Castle’s self to make safe spaces for the hurting children who would be coming to Hogwarts after Castle was made livable for hundreds again. Beccos informed Castle that some foreign witches and wizards- mind healers- were going to need special accommodations in each of the House dorms and Castle set about making quiet and calming spaces for them to live and work in, as well as making spaces on the Grounds and in the gardens where one or two people could talk and not be listened in on. Adjusting the areas around Castle’s being was not as difficult as it had been in the past with the curses of the chessmaster lifted, but all of the moving did tire Castle out faster than Castle remembered and the going was slow enough that Castle often became frustrated. Tas and the other House Elves were quick to comfort their Great Lady when they sensed Castle’s upset.

           There were important negotiations and things for Castle to consider that came up rather quickly ad Castle rumbled in frustration. Umbra’s visit to the owls revealed that they also had been beneath the chessmaster’s notice and that with all of the excitement and panic of the last two years, groundskeeper Hagrid had not been able to regularly check on them. Castle had to be very stern with a vast majority of the owls who were threatening to revolt and leave their roosts for the Forest because of the state of the owlry and the quality of their treatment. Luckily Umbra’s larger statue cousins in the owlry had regained full movement almost right away, so Castle could promise a lightening of the mail burden as well as better care and safety and living conditions for them and their future owlets. This and the promise of an abundant feast in rodents now that Castle regained the ability to channel every wayward mouse and rat that had been hiding in all of Castle’s unused places straight to the owlry for the owls to dispatch softened the harshest of Castle’s avian critics. The owls then informed Umbra that some of them were sick.

         Castle trembled slightly and called upon Rubeus Hagrid at once.

         Castle liked Hagrid very much, he was solid and dependable and cheery and he thrilled at introductions to creatures that would make another wizard turn tail and run. Hagrid had a soft spot for adventure, nurtured a healthy spark of mischief, and was a thrill seeker at heart. He was also in possession of one of the kindest and gentlest spirits Castle had ever had the pleasure to know. Castle knew Hagrid would be delighted at the things Castle could do to aid Hagrid in the days to come, if Castle had to hint that Castle was awake, there was no better Wizard to hint it to than Hagrid. Every single student at Hogwarts liked Hagrid- even the Slytherins that pretended to sneer at him to their friends’ faces said good things about him in private- Castle saw and Castle listened. That fact made Castle warm and hum, and then cool at the next observation- that he had oftentimes been the only safe place to land for some of the more timid and targeted students. Castle despised the chessmaster for his every sickening ploy. Castle saw and Castle knew that Rubius Hagrid was a man of integrity who was not at all bitter about what had happened to him at the hands of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

         Hagrid was surprised when a soft clinking thump and an insistent tattooing rap sounded outside his hut’s door.

        “Who’s there, what’s this noise now?” He called when the tapping didn’t let up and a soft hooting began. Fang let out a whine and buried his face under his paws as Hagrid rose and opened the door. When he didn’t immediately notice a guest at his door, he moved to close it. A high pitched if quiet shriek as well as the clinking whir of stone feathers in flight was the only warning before a tiny stone owl flew directly at his face and latched itself on to his beard. Hagrid flailed a little as he tried to detach the owl statue from his whiskers but the pesky thing shrieked, bit him on the finger, twisted around in his beard to right itself and began to flap madly, tugging viciously on the strands in its talons.

        “Hey! Hey! Let go O’ Me beard!” He cried but the owl statue was determined and since every attempt to dislodge the creature ended in a nasty bite, Hagrid sighed and followed where the insistent tugging lead. Fang whined and got up to follow Hagrid. Hagrid started a bit when the statue tugged him toward the Castle proper and sighed when he saw the stairs to the owlry.

        “Of all the times to wish I had my wand back.” Hagrid grumbled staring up at the hundreds of stairs. Immediately the owl statue trilled sharply, clicking its beak as it thrashed madly still holding clumps of Hagrid’s beard. “All righ’ all righ’ I’m going, calm down you wee little bugger!” He cried slapping at the statue as he began the arduous task of attempting to ease his large frame up the steep and narrow spiral staircase that lead to the owlry. He let out a startled cry when once his two feet were firmly settled on the bottom step, the stone railings widened to accommodate him and the stairs began to race forward at an impeccable pace. He was windblown and slightly surprised, but chuckling under his breath as he arrived at the top of the tower. A chorus of soft hooting calls and shrieks greeted him. The tiny owl statue disentangled its talons from the thatch of Hagrid’s beard and flapped over to perch on the ear tuft of great horned owl statue. The Great owl statue shook itself, trilled softly to its small companion, stretched its wings, turned its head to look directly at Hagrid and opened its beak, Hagrid was expecting a series of owl vocalizations. Instead, a deep and ancient human sounding voice called out to him.

        “Greetings groundskeeper. I am called by some Bartholomew. I am one of the voices for the Castle’s owls. I apologize on behalf of Umbra, my small friend, for the manner in which you were called to us. It is hard for her to remember human words and so she was forced to bite you to get your attention. There are sick owls here and we thought it best to call you while they were all awake.” Hagrid took all of the strange activity and commotion in good humored stride, nodded and clapped his hands softly.

        “Right, which of you are feeling poorly then? No biting. I’m already torn up.” The well owls who had been resting and roosting took flight and rushed out into the night in a flurry of dust, scattered feathers, and droppings. Six owls looked solemnly at Hagrid from the nest boxes around the room. Rubius Hagrid was a gentle and fair caretaker and easily coaxed the shivering, ornery owls to let him examine them. They had all developed a nasty case of mites, luckily the problem was minor, easily treated and corrected before it became too serious or spread to the rest of the healthy owls. Hagrid’s kind and quick treatment earned Castle much goodwill, Castle's stones all but sighed in relief that the problem was corrected before Castle had to involve Headmaster Snape. After Hagrid had finished dusting down the owls with a special powder he’d pulled from his expansive coat and coaxed all six of them to perch on his broad shoulders so he could bring them back to his hut, he stepped out on to the landing of the tower and Castle obligingly lowered him and his charges down the stairs to the grounds- though at a slower pace so as not to upset the precarious purchase of talons on slippery leather. Hagrid saluted the stairwell when he stepped off which amused Castle to no end.

         Tisha herself saw to the immediate cleanup of the owlry once Hagrid went striding back to his hut and before any of the well owls returned. House elf was not generally on the menu for the owls, but if they chose to they could seriously harm any careless or unaware elf with beaks and talons. Tisha crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the nasty nesting boxes, the caked roosts and the slimy, acrid floor.

        “It’s nasty up here isn’t it?” She remarked to Bartholomew, he nodded and shook himself again, scattering his own layer of dust as he settled, unused to speaking. Umbra trilled softly and took off after a careful preening of Bartholomew’s ear tuft to return to her fresco and her twin. The disgusted house elf snapped her fingers waved her arms, and made brisk shooing motions with her hands. The layers of bird droppings and molted feathers and owl pellets disappeared, the dust flew out of the windows chased by hissing whirlwinds, the dusty cobwebs were incinerated with the smell of burning dust, and tiny bright flares of orange light marked where Tisha was incinerating mites and other nasty pests out of existence, though she left the spiders and the moths alone. She didn’t stop until the entire owlry was scrubbed as clean as it had been on its first day of being. She giggled a little and clapped her hands. Fresh branches and soft leaves appeared and were laid out in the nest boxes and over the floor, small piles of grain and seeds were sprinkled out over the bed of leaves to entice the rodents Castle channeled here to stay put for a little while. When it was arranged to her satisfaction, Tisha smiled and nodded to Bartholomew before she disappeared back to the Headmaster’s office with a soft ‘pop.’

         When the Malfoys came to Hogwarts to set up their potions classroom and to settle in, had Tas and Tisha make up the suite of rooms to either side of the Slytherin dorms, kindly lengthening the hallway a bit and quieting the stones between their rooms and the common room so that the Malfoys had privacy and peace. Castle stretched and opened up new gabled windows in each suite so that cheery sunlight and fresh air could be let in. A comfortable and airy open concept sitting room bloomed in Narcissa’s suite while Draco’s developed a dimly lit, warm, windowless alcove bordered in carvings of songbirds and stars with a comfortable pile of cushions and candles scented like the salt air. Wisdom, the fresco of Salazar Slytherin’s first pet that presided over the Slytherin House Office- a noble snake whose name was in Parseltongue, and long and complicated to boot so that he graciously allowed everyone but Castle to use the nickname- nudged two of his cousins from the carved marble crown molding to take residence over the mantles of the suite’s fireplaces.

         Grin, a noble older house elf whose lineage could be traced back to the original House Elves of Ravenclaw Manor volunteered to see personally to the Malfoy’s needs. The rest of the House Elves sighed and thanked him, Castle flared the stones under his feet with a soft green and silver light and warmed them to the temperature Grin preferred in gratitude. Grin was a house elf who stood on tradition and was a cousin on his mother's side to the House Elves who served the Malfoys and the Blacks. He respected and upheld the ceremony that the Malfoys were used to receiving from their elves, but he was old and wise enough to sing out and call for Castle’s aid if the young Malfoy showed any inclination to treat him the way that his father had treated young Dobby. Castle did not believe that either Malfoy would resort to the petty tricks and awful treatment, since Castle had seen how much the last few years had changed young Draco. But it was better to be on guard than sorry later, the chessmaster taught Castle that lesson. Castle witnessed the anguished, frightened, lonely tears cried late at night in the abandoned dungeon rooms. Heard the frantic planning and the terrified indecision as Draco’s young loyalties were held hostage and tested to get him to comply. Castle urged the owls that carried his mournful pleas for aid through the night and mourned as his young heart broke again and again even as he was too proud to admit his overwhelming terror and pain, his unease and fright to the one man who could have helped him. Castle saw.

        Even so, Castle would not permit the mistreatment of any living being within Castle’s walls now that Castle was unbound, The House Elves were connected to Castle even though they were separate beings with independent lives. Connected much like the ghosts and portraits, though in a different way. Grin made sure that the suites were soothing and comfortable, chattering and humming to himself and to Castle as he coordinated a mix of House colors with colors that would be soothing and pleasant and set the tea services just so in the private sitting rooms. He asked politely for a potted arrangement of fairy violets and set them carefully in a bright corner of Narcissa’s new sun room so that the flowers petals caught and refracted the light in a dazzling shimmer of purples, blues, and pinks. For young Master Draco, he and Castle arranged a private labyrinth that joined up with one or two pleasant surprises they hoped would intrigue Master Draco and made sure that there was a nice selection of warm clothing and fur lined robes suited to fast flying.

         “Never fear Castle, Never fear, Grin will not let you down.” He chortled at the faint shiver of Castle’s anxiety as he paused in his dusting and arranging to lovingly stroke the stone pillars at each side of the fireplace in Draco’s new sitting room, Castle warmed and the stone under Grin’s fingertips chimed with a soft ethereal note, flaring a pearly white for a moment before fading to their normal color. The house elf chuckled and gave the stone one last pat before he adjusted the placement of the hearth rug with a casual flick of the hand.

        When young Malfoy and Miss Granger met on the Quidditch Pitch for a long talk, Castle coiled, ready to spring to the defense of either of Hogwarts’ hurting former students, but Castle was pleasantly surprised when Miss Granger showed the depth of her Ravenclaw wisdom and intelligence and the breadth of her Hufflepuff compassion and kindness and the signature Gryffindor bravery. Castle settled the grasses underneath them, shook the ground just enough to discourage the beetles and other insects from taking too much interest in the pair, sweetened the air with the scent of the jasmine blossoms from the far gardens. Castle warded their words so that the breeze couldn’t carry them to any prying ears, but Castle was unsure what to do when the Headmaster, Narcissa, and Deputy Headmaster McGonnagall went in search of the pair. Castle was feeling a bit…shy? Uncertain? Castle did not know the word.

         Headmaster knew Beccos was awake, but Headmaster did not understand the full scope of what had happened nor what Castle could accomplish now that Castle was unchained. Headmaster did not understand what he had done by invoking the _Sanctuarium Saecula_ and Castle did not want to anger anyone, Castle was not sure how these easily startled humans would feel when they knew Castle saw. Castle settled for rustling the dry leaves on the ground behind the two young humans, frustrated when this did not alert them. Castle did not want to risk activating a full ward, for they would be sure to notice if Castle did and Castle was unsure how they would react. Castle’s anxious indecision turned out to be a blessing when Headmaster Snape and Miss Granger got a moment to talk about the Life Debt invoked during the Final Battle in those tense moments in the Shrieking Shack when the most faithful pawn of he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle had been intent on murder. Castle was glad that they got to speak of it. Castle sighed a contented sigh, but the human wizards and witches thought it merely a strong gust of breeze.


	4. Castle's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chessmaster is revealed.
> 
> This chapter contains follow up to Chapter 21 of Smoke and Chapter 23 is embedded in entirety to provide continuity.

Umbra screeched madly as a sniffling Hagrid made his way stumbling back through the tangled briars at the edge of the Forest, his shoulders drooping and his eyes rimmed red. Castle had been alert all morning after Beccos had requested Headmaster Snape survey the damage, find the source of the chaos and the poison and remove it if he could. The rot and shadow had been growing steadily worse, but there was already so much on Severus Snape’s plate that Castle felt hesitant to prompt him with more until it became apparent that the situation inside Forest was an urgent matter.

Castle liked Hagrid but Umbra in particular had grown attached to Hagrid in the few weeks since Castle had been unchained, she spent about half of her time outside the fresco she shared with Hugin visiting with Rubius Hagrid and he seemed to welcome her company as much as she enjoyed his. The clear distress pouring off of him as well as the black phoenix that burst into the sky signaled trouble.

The small owl statue dove for Hagrid, landing on the top of his head and preening through the strands of his wild mane of hair trilling as she did so. A large handkerchief was produced from another mysterious pocket and a great honking noise emanated from underneath it as Hagrid blew his nose and wiped his face before taking a breath and speaking.

“Unicorns, little one, dead unicorns. There’s nothing I can do to help tend them now but ensure that they’re laid to rest proper if there are any who can be buried.” Hagrid sniffed as a great shimmering tear tumbled down his face to start another wet track and he reached a large worn hand up, waiting until Umbra flitted to it and settled on his index finger. Hagrid brought his hand around to his face and Umbra gave a soft hoot as she laid her beak against Hagrid’s thumb, her stone feathers making soft clinking noises as she ruffled them. She refused to be separated from Hagrid for the rest of the day, hovering nearby as he worked or gripping to his coat or his beard or his hair as he strode along. He would occasionally reach out for her to land, or raise one finger to stroke down the length of her as he spent the afternoon silent or in tears by turns. Umbra stayed quiet as well, occasionally letting out soft chirring noises and hoots whenever Hagrid gave a particularly large sniff or began crying in earnest. He loved all the creatures under his care, but the unicorns had been just as special to him as the thestrals and hippogriffs, though he did not try to tame the unicorns as he had the others.

Castle had nowhere good to put the mourning anger Castle felt over the murder of unicorns for the purpose of poisoning Forest. Helena’s ghost- now known only as the Grey Lady- woke Castle’s protective instincts with a wistful mournful sigh. Castle shivered happily and urged her out onto the grounds. Helena perked up, moving faster in her eagerness. The wards protecting Rowena’s tower dissolved, revealing the ramshackle circle of its foundation surrounded by every one of the stones that once perched atop it in the form of a majestic Raven. The magical safe-stone that housed all of Rowena’s observations and discoveries, her thoughts and hopes and fears, the drafts of her finest and most closely kept spells was still intact if the carved engraving was a bit worn. Castle shifted it to the surface, bathing it in Rowena’s signature pearlescent blue/white shimmer and filling the air with a chorus of chimes. The ground rumbled quietly as the stones began to rise out of the earth, but Helena stopped Castle before Castle was even warmed up.

“Don’t bring back the tower Castle, not the full tower. It would dishonor Mother’s memory somehow I think, but I do so miss Hugin in all of his glory. His likeness in the fresco pales in comparison to the statue. Perhaps a quiet place for reflection?” Another series of chimes filled the air as Castle moved the stones again, creating a flat disc in the footprint of Rowena’s Roost, calling up the old benches that had graced the observation deck of the tower in its prime to once again sit at the points of the four cardinal directions. In the center, Hugin’s statue rose from his dusty rubble tomb, sending out a quiet caw and shaking off the dust and dirt and mosses that stubbornly clung to his wings. Small stone planters shaped themselves out of the pieces of Crown Molding carved in owls and stars and ravens and set themselves at either end of the benches. Around Hugin’s claws, a bed of stargazer lilies blossomed sending out a fey plume of incense into the night. A soft chime sounded as Hugin’s likeness looked to Helena in question.

“Yes, Castle, much better, hide it for me again? I wish to show Miss Granger later, it shall be a gift along with Mother’s journals.” With another ringing chime, the Roost’s dilapidated form returned, though a soft orange glow and a ringing high bell toll prompted Helena to sink beneath the tumbled stones into the tower’s cellar. There she found Rowena’s workroom, the haven of Helena’s youth restored to its original splendor and grandeur. The ceiling a spelled gilded crystal mural of all of Rowena’s favorite constellations, the soaring, graceful arches, the bench Rowena often broke her morning fast upon, or sat so she could brush Helena’s hair, it was all there. Hugin’s voice whispered through the room then, soft and raspy and so like the living Raven that Helena started.

“This is a poor gift to you, Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw. A Poor gift. Take it now though it is but a shadow of all that you deserve for your sacrifices. Take it now with Castle’s thanks. Castle loves you Helena Ravenclaw, well done.” The last word echoed through the stones before dying away and fading into the sound of rustling leaves in a spring breeze and wind chimes. The scent of an evergreen forest in early summer suffused through the room with a soft, feather light sighing breeze. With a sigh, Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady, moved through the room and settled on her mother’s bench and stared up at her ceiling as she had in her early youth, feeling the thrumming warm, alive presence of Castle all around her. For a moment, for a lovely moment, Helena Ravenclaw sat and felt peace.

Beccos watched warily as a weeping Hermione Granger, having given Ostiarius a gasping, high pitched near-shriek of “hellebore” charged up the stairs so quickly that Castle did not aid her for fear of tripping her stumbling feet and sending her toppling backwards- frantically ran to the bookshelf searching madly before grabbing a volume that boded ill. Hermione Granger collapsed into the Headmaster’s chair clutching Herat’s “Nox Purificus” in trembling, white knuckled hands. The portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses looked startled and began to quietly confer with one another in low, soft voices that did not carry far enough for the distraught girl-woman to hear. Even the chessmaster’s portrait looked disturbed and upset. This was bad.

Castle brightened the light in the room slowly and adjusted the warmth to a more soothing and relaxing clime than Severus usually preferred (Severus had spent too many years in the dungeons combatting the damp and the chill while Castle slept to revel in cheerful comfort now) as Hermione took several deep breaths in an attempt to collect herself. Unicorns, little one, dead unicorns, the stones almost sadly echoed as Hermione sniffed, produced a handkerchief and wiped her watering eyes. She was breathing so heavily and raggedly that Castle quietly nudged an empty waste basin out from under the desk so that if she needed it, it would not be very far away.

When two minutes after locating the book and sitting down, Miss Granger simply sat staring hollow-eyed at the unopened volume, Beccos sent an inquiring nudge. Tisha appeared a moment later carrying a tray of hot tea, finger sandwiches, and scones with a stack of crisp white handkerchiefs tucked under one arm. There was deep sorrow and concern in her eyes and her ears were carried low and back as she looked at the sad tableau that Miss Granger made sitting at Headmaster’s desk.

Tisha slowly moved closer. Miss Granger did not move.

“Would Miss like tea? Tisha brought hankies and a tea tray for Miss.” Tisha ventured tentatively, moving slowly and carefully closer though staying well out of arms reach from the sniffling Lady. None of the House Elves had forgotten Miss Granger’s misguided attempt to free them all during her time as a student. Winky was still a wreck, though now that Castle was awake, Castle could slowly guide her into a better space with a more productive use of her time and hopefully along with it a more positive frame of mind by giving her tasks that filled her with joy. Winky would be wonderful with the particularly fearful students if Winky ever got better enough herself to get out of her cot and stop guzzling butterbeer. Dobby was beyond the veil which meant that only those House Elves who had not been freed were available to intervene, none of Castle’s House Elves wished to be freed.

Hermione sniffed and looked down at the book still in her vice like grip. She shook herself a little and sat up straight in the chair as she looked over to where Tisha was standing. She cleared her throat.

“Yes, thank you, and thank you for the extra handkerchiefs.” Hermione managed as Tisha came closer and set the tray down on a small side table. If Hermione had been less focused on finding the book in her panic and grief she would have noticed that the table wasn’t in the same spot as it had been when she entered the office. When Tisha set the stack of small folded squares on the edge of the Headmaster’s desk, Hermione grabbed one and began blowing her nose to try and clear the lingering scent of death and decay from it. Then she fixed herself a strong cup of tea and began to read feverishly. She was so absorbed she didn’t stop to wonder where the parchment or the quill by her elbow came from, she just began taking notes. The process appeared grueling for her, since Headmaster Snape had apparently set a word limit on her report. She kept starting sentences and then angrily crossing them out.

“Oh by Morgana’s left eye, what in the blazes is ‘proper ceremony’ for the burial of a unicorn‽” She cried at one point, angrily crossing out another line of her report as more tears dripped down her cheeks unchecked for the moment. Georgiana Gorsebush a Ravenclaw Headmistress from the early 1650’s cleared her throat and stood from her chair. When the question became clearly rhetorical, she sat down slowly with a soft smile on her face as she watched Hermione scribble rapidly on the parchment. Fifteen more minutes of scribbling, muttering and glaring between the book and the parchment sheaves in front of her later, Hermione coalesced her information onto one sheet of parchment, shoved the chair back a little and put her head in her hands for a moment, taking a deep breath before she began tapping the nib of her quill near the bottom of her completed report and looked towards Beccos expectantly with a faint air of excitement, her eyes lighting as she spoke to him directly.

“Headmaster Snape said to ask you about a fitting place to lay the unicorns to rest, gargoyle. He said you spoke for Castle and you would know best where to put them.” She gasped a little when Beccos shook himself and turned to look Hermione full in the face, a fanged smile twisting the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “Indeed, Miss Granger, We are already searching. The Castle will arrange a fitting place for the burial. It must be isolated enough and near enough to the Forest for the unicorns and centaurs to feel comfortable paying respects yet close enough for staff, especially Groundskeeper Hagrid, to visit when they wish to pay respects. There are several possibilities and Castle will need a few hours to think about the most appropriate option. Please inform Headmaster Snape that The Castle likes Rubeus Hagrid very much and We hope that Headmaster Snape retains his services another year. If you head down to the library you may find reference regarding the proper burial proceedings for unicorns. Be well Miss Granger.” Beccos gave her a saucy wink and curled back into his customary crouch.

Hermione looked at him for a few long moments with a smile and a curious look on her face before the soft sound of the quill tapping the parchment shook her and she wrote the final paragraph in her report. She shook herself a little, still deep in thought as she gathered up the messily scrawled first drafts and took a large gulp of tea before she looked about, her eyes landing back on Beccos’s statue. She startled, cleared her throat and murmured quietly

“Thank you gargoyle.” Beccos cracked another smile and replied

“You are most welcome, Hermione Granger, Daughter of Four Houses. Go now, the Library holds many an interesting tome for you to seek. If you require assistance, simply ask, We will hear you.” Hermione nodded with another quiet thank you as she hurried out of the office and down the steps, the faint grinding swish of stone could be heard as Ostiarius stepped smoothly aside for Miss Granger’s exit.

Tisha appeared a moment later, eyes bright with unshed tears and dark with worry as she whisked the tray and the handkerchiefs off of Headmaster Snape’s desk and set it to rights with another brisk fluttering of her fingers leaving Miss Granger’s report front and center. She glanced around the room, glaring at the small tumbles of dust and errant drips of ink that dared to accumulate in between her visits. Tisha clapped her hands and with a soft gurgle, the ink reconstituted, bubbled up into beads and ran back into the inkwell on the desk, small whirling fingers of air lashed the dusty baseboards clean again and ushered the results of the brisk cleaning out of the arched balcony and into the night for the wind to take away.

“So much is sad and wrong Castle, so much.” Tisha whispered as she surveyed the office one more time, feeling the change with her bare feet as the office cooled to Severus’s preferred temperature.

“There is much wrong Tisha.” Georgiana murmured softly with a pointed glare in the direction of a certain portrait. A glare that was taken up by many other portraits. A glare that was studiously ignored. “Much is wrong, but much is now on the mend, and there is always hope in mending. Indeed even as there are losses and things to mourn, there is much to hope for and much to hope in. The tide is turning now I think.” Everyone ignored the indignant snort that echoed from the direction of the chessmaster’s portrait as Tisha gave Georgiana’s portrait a wobbly smile and returned to the kitchens to speak with Tas and the other House Elves.

“Poppycock and frippery. Don’t indulge the nitwits Georgiana, it is beneath you.” Came an enraged mutter from the corner. A chorus of hundreds of voices rose and throbbed in the air, echoed by the stones around them. The frame of a certain portrait began to rattle ominously against the wall as a faint tremor took hold of the room.

“Be silent Albus. You’ve done quite enough.” He was wisely silent.

The wizards and witches left came back well after dark, dragging themselves in through the main door of the castle. House elves popped into existence at the door's opening, trays of tea and sandwiches in their hands, worried big eyes looking up at the staff. Tisha, as always, went to Severus' side.

"Headmaster is all right? House elves are worried." He nodded, sipping at the tea cup she had brought him.

"Yes, Tisha. Headmaster is all right. We're all just a bit exhausted at the moment." She kept that doe-eyed gaze on him until he sighed and bent down to her level. "Tell the other house elves that I'm fine, Tisha. We had a very bad experience today, and we're all very tired, but we are all physically fine."

"Not always the body that hurts," Tisha said in return.

"No," he agreed. "And we are grieving a horrible thing. But there's nothing that we can do for that but do what we can to fix it."

"Granger was in Headmaster's Office," Tisha whispered. "Crying."

"On my orders," he reassured her. "I'm sorry she was crying. Where is she now, Tisha?" Tisha's eyes grew cloudy, and she looked hard at the wall, as if she were looking through it, before answering.

"Asleep in the library, Headmaster. Do you want Tisha to put her to bed?"

"Yes, please. Minerva, Tisha is putting Miss Granger to bed."

"Yes, fine," Minerva waved at him with half a sandwich in her hand. With that, Tisha popped away again, and he took a few sandwiches for himself, asked for a pot of tea to be brought to the Headmaster's Office, and went to the door, which swung open at his touch. With a weary sigh, he began the trek up the stairs. He settled down behind his desk, poured tea, added more sugar than normal, as he would need the stimulant, and began to read Granger's report.

_For unicorns who have died of trauma and retained their purity, it is recommended that they be laid to rest, not burned. Though burning is an option if there are no others, burial is noted as being more welcoming to them. Once properly buried, with appropriate ceremony (I'm sorry, Headmaster, Herat doesn't go into detail on proper ceremony) they will begin to decompose within forty-eight hours, and will most likely be fully decomposed within a few months. It is recommended that the burial plot be somewhere secluded, as this may become a shrine of sorts for other unicorns to visit._

_Beccos says that the Castle will arrange a properly secluded area and ward it well to protect the dead from curious students and the like, though the staff, particularly Hagrid, are welcome at any time to pay respects. (Headmaster, Beccos said that the Castle likes Hagrid very much, and hopes you will retain him? I am confused…the Castle likes people?)_ Her report ended on that question, and Severus was glad of it. He remembered too well her essays and reports from her student days.

"Beccos," he began, "are you awake?" The gargoyle statuette raised its head and turned its stone eyes to him.

"Yes, Headmaster. Always, for you."

"Where is the Castle planning to create a…shrine for the unicorns, Beccos?" He asked, curious.

"There is a hill half a kilometer from the Forest," the stone guardian began. "We plan to ask that hill to split in twain, allow you all to lay the bodies to rest there, and then ask it to join again."

"Castle can do that? That's the grounds, not the Castle proper."

"Headmaster. We are…one…with the grounds. We can do quite a bit with them. We have plans to do so, once the children arrive."

"Would you care to explain, please?" Severus wasn't so sure he liked the sound of that. If the Castle was planning on creating anything where children could be snuck up upon, children with Spell Shock could hurt someone quite by accident.

"The paths will be made straight and smooth, are already in the process of doing so; the hedges will be lowered in most places to ensure a clear line of sight. There will be secret places, good secret places, for those who need a moment to mourn, or to recover themselves, to do so, but there will be…" Beccos cocked his head…"trips? Warning systems? I am not sure how to explain, only that no one will be surprised in one of those places. Bells will ring, the tinkly kind. I…I am sorry, Headmaster, I lost so much of my vocabulary while I was silenced…"

"Silenced? Who silenced you, Beccos?" Now that he thought about it, he had never heard the gargoyle speak, ever, in all his years at the school.

"We will not speak his name. The chessmaster." It was no trouble for Severus to infer that Beccos meant Albus.

"What…why? Why would he ever have done such a thing? Why would he have --"

"Headmaster. Calm yourself. He is gone now, beyond our reach for recompense, beyond our grip for vengeance. May he learn the lessons he needs to do."

"But.." Severus sank back in his chair, looked at the portraits on the walls, many of them looking at him sadly, some stamping about in anger, but all of them had their focus upon him. "Thank you, Beccos. That sounds like the perfect place to lay the unicorns to rest. Thank you, Castle."

"You are most welcome, Headmaster." Severus dug through his desk madly for a Dictoquill and parchment, a fucking ream of it, because it would be needed. He looked to the portrait of Miriam Castlebury, a Hufflepuff Headmistress from the 1700s.

"You. You will not lie, and you will not defend the former Headmaster. Tell me what you saw." The old woman in the portrait drew her cloak closer around her, and began to speak.

"In 1927 --"

"No!" Albus shouted through the office from his portrait. "No. It is in the past. Let the past lie, Severus. Let it lie. I do not know how the Castle was awakened, but you are playing with fire, my boy, to trust it. You are the one in charge here. Not it." Severus rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"Albus, do you have any idea how many students died in the Final Battle?" He said, his voice thin with exhaustion, with grief, with anger.

"The Castle could have done nothing to prevent --"

"NO." Beccos' voice rang, a heavy gonging bell through the office, and it took Severus a moment to realize that the tiny gargoyle was being echoed by its larger twin downstairs. "No. You have no idea what you did. You have no idea how many deaths are on your head, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You failed in the greatest task a Headmaster is to swear fealty to; the protection and the welfare of his or her students. You chained us, you silenced us, you prevented us from taking any action you did not personally approve. You rejoiced in the confusion and separation of the Houses, you took pleasure in seeing to it that your Gryffindors were ever the top of the heap and all the other Houses reduced to afterthoughts. We were there when the Founders signed the Charter, We witnessed their plans and their hopes for the future. You betrayed them. You. And even in death, you wish to dissuade, to manipulate, to cast doubt, while you take no responsibility for your actions.

"Headmaster Snape is trying to find out the truth, and you are frightened above all of the truth, for it will show your true colors; that you were but the mirror image of Riddle, and all his machinations, and more, that you could have prevented the terror, the madness, the bloodshed. You became a Lord of Light, but the light you preached was twisted, never pure; you pulled upon bonds that should never have been to make Headmaster Snape your puppet, and we could do nothing because you held us captive. We will never forgive you, we will never forget the cruelty you practiced while you preached compassion. We repudiate you; you were Headmaster in name only, and never in spirit." And with that, Albus' portrait fell from the wall, the frame breaking as it hit the floor.

Portrait Albus rushed to the side of the canvas, but found himself trapped there, as he was no longer in a frame and hung properly, he could not leave. He looked up at Severus and opened his mouth, but Severus' wand was in his hand already.

"TACEAT!" He screamed the spell, and while Albus's mouth still moved, no sound came from it. Severus fell back in his chair, lowered his head to his hands, and, moved already beyond breaking by the events of the day, and now by these new revelations and accusations against his former master, began to weep.

Downstairs, Ostiarius fell silent, the staff left in the hall looking at him in terror. Pomona drew herself together first.

"Move aside, please, gargoyle," she said as sweetly as she could. "Please." The heavy stone head turned to one side and looked at her.

"Not right now," it answered.

"Yes, please, right now," Pomona insisted. "Severus will need us."

"Yes," the doorkeeper answered. "He will. But right now, he is…indisposed."

"I see," Pomona said, and she did; Severus had always been a private man, and was likely very upset at the moment. She reached out to the gargoyle, tentatively, and patted its snout. "Will you please let us know when he is available?"

"I shall, Head of House Hufflepuff," came the answer, even as the stone head twisted under her hand, much like a dog moves as it's scratched.

"It's warm," she whispered. "You've never been warm before, gargoyle."

"Ostiarius," Filius supplied. "His name is Ostiarius."

"Things are changing; we are waking up, we are becoming more again, we…are, again. We are free again." Its wings stretched out, folded back again. "We respectfully request that all of the House Heads go to your offices; the truth is about to out, and we wish to tell this only once." With no lack of speed, or trepidation, for that matter, Filius and Minerva rushed to the stairs. Pomona stayed only another moment, to scratch once more behind stone ears for good measure. The gargoyle -- Ostiarius -- winked at her. "Go on, Hufflepuff," he said, though gently. She gave him a smile, and left. Rolanda looked at the gargoyle and crossed her arms.

"And what about me, and Hagrid, and Sinistra? Don't we get a chance to hear whatever it is?" The gargoyle's gaze landed upon her.

"You may stay here. I will be your mouthpiece. For those who are not here, there is naught I can do. Though if there are statues in their chambers, they will hear it all anyway." One of the house elves drew Rolanda to a chair across from the gargoyle, and she sat down, waiting.  

The murmur of several portraits a few minutes later indicated that somebody had fetched Sinistra.

Umbra suddenly gripped Hagrid’s beard in a hard, implacable way that was becoming familiar, rose in the air and began yanking on the clumps of hair to get him to rise from his seat. Another concerned chittering escaped her as she tugged him towards the door of his hut. Hagrid sighed and rose, following the insistent pull of Umbra’s tiny, powerful talons.

“I don’ really feel like leaving little one.” Hagrid sighed, he sighed again when that comment earned an indignant screaming sound from Umbra. “I’m coming. I can’ really stop yeh now, can I?” An amused sounding hoot came from the statue as she lead him through the grounds up to Hogwarts Castle proper, her flight got more frantic as they reached the front doors, so Hagrid let himself inside. One of the portraits chuckled for a moment to see Hagrid being urged onward by Umbra’s talons in his beard.

“I can tell him Umbra. Hagrid, if you will make your way to the Headmaster’s Office there is a bench waiting in front of the gargoyle that guards his staircase. Castle is awake, and ready to tell the story, you have been invited to listen to what Castle has to say.” Umbra hooted in agreement, let go of Hagrid’s beard and flew in front of his face for a moment before trilling and flitting off in the direction of the Headmaster’s office. Hagrid followed after her at a trot.

Castle waited as Headmaster Snape wept at his desk, as those who were not in range of a statue’s call were gathered, as Tisha ensured that Miss Hermione Granger was settled in her bed in her chambers, undisturbed in quiet slumber even as the ringing voice of the statue in the hall outside her chambers seemed loud enough to rouse a soul and return it from beyond the Veil. Miss Granger mumbled quietly, turned over and slept on, oblivious to the telling of Castle’s tale. Castle waited. As the chessmaster’s portrait lay languishing on the stone floor. Castle waited. Once. The story would be told once. Let the Wizards and Witches hear it, the abomination that Albus Dumbledore had become haunted Castle, a fierce tremble shook through Castle along with a cool breeze.

Tas murmured soothingly to the Great Lady as he caressed the Touchstone in the kitchens feeling the swell of energy like an indrawn breath, the pull of a tide. For one as old and filled with History as Castle, the past seventy years were still very much present even if ten generations of students had come as bright eyed eleven year olds and graduated from her halls at eighteen, for Castle that was very little time. Very little time, and too much time. Tas murmured again and patted the Touchstone as it flared in greens and greys and blues with occasional ribbons of violet that were almost black. The shivering tension in the floors and the waiting attention of every statue and portrait signaled Castle’s distress. It was a story that needed to be told. It was a story Castle did not want to tell.

Tas patted the Touchstone gently once more before he traveled to the Headmaster’s Office.

A few minutes after the chessmaster’s portrait canvas was silenced and beginning to curl in on itself on the floor, long before Headmaster Snape was ready to finish grieving, a loud “plip” sound caused Severus to look up from where he had his head buried in his hands. Through the tears that blurred his vision appeared a wizened, ancient house elf furry eared, knob kneed, and bent nearly double who had apparated next to the fallen portrait and was in the middle of wildly flapping it about. The elf made no noise but there was furious ire written in every line of his shaky, ancient body and his face was pulled into a vicious, terrifying snarl. It was the angriest Severus Snape had ever seen a house elf. Ever. The portraits were all focused on the proceedings, but not one of them said a word. Beccos was staring with a smug little grin on his face. Severus pulled himself together and sat up.

The movement caught the eye of the house elf, he stopped wildly thrashing the loose portrait about, but he did not let go of the canvas, and the trembling of his arms transferred through to the shaken and green looking visage of the former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, still gesticulating wildly and attempting to shout even as he righted himself in his now sideways and jumbled surroundings. The elf gave the canvas another sharp flap just to see him topple.

“Enough. Enough. Who are you?” Severus couldn’t even call a proper note of outrage to his voice, he was too tired, too shocked, and too strung out with grief.

“I am Tas. I remember. I remember all of the chessmaster’s moves, his sneaky games and his awful lies. I remember.” Here the elf threw the canvas on the ground and raised a foot to stomp on the canvas, Severus raised a hand and he stilled with his wrinkled bony foot midair. Before Severus could speak, the elf continued, completely ignoring the wizard with a look of hatred still on his small, pinched face.

“Tas would have stolen the chessmaster’s likeness. Castle wanted you to see. Tas could not leave quietly. Castle says that though Castle hates it here and wants it gone, I cannot destroy it. Castle wants the chessmaster’s likeness gone! Tas cannot take this and do with it what it deserves. Castle says you, Headmaster, must decide. Even though Castle wants it gone.” Here a breathy sigh escaped the trembling elf as he slowly straightened out of the angry crouch he’d pulled himself into, lowering his foot to stand on both feet.

Severus shifted in his seat and the elf stiffened slightly, blinking owlishly as a sudden look of concern tinged with the edge of fear brushed across his features. He kept a glaring eye on the portrait canvas like he was afraid it would vanish even as he turned so that he was side on, presenting a smaller target and ensuring that he was not looking Headmaster Snape directly in the face.

“Castle says Tas will be protected if Headmaster Snape is too angry, Castle knows that Tas remembers.” Here Severus looked over to Beccos. The gargoyle merely looked back at him gravely and gave a slight nod, refusing to speak as Castle gathered the courage to let the story of Castle’s imprisonment out into the open. Severus inhaled a large breath of air.

“What do you remember Tas?” The elf’s ears drooped so low they brushed his shoulders.

“Before. Tas remembers before the Great Lady was chained. Tas remembers all we could not do while Castle was forced to sleep, cursed to watch and never move. Tas remembers. The Lady will tell her story, but Wizards and Witches always ask, ask, ask. The Great Lady only wants to speak once. The Great Lady asked Tas to help you with what Tas remembers.” The house elf’s ears drooped even lower as his thin shoulders hunched, he was quiet now and there was an expectant weight to the air, the very stones of the room seemed to be holding their breath. Severus shook himself as he looked about his surroundings.

“I need a moment and I wish to hear what Castle has to say, but I will remember what you told me Tas, I will think about what to do with the portrait and I thank you for offering your knowledge. Please come back here after Castle has finished the tale.” Snape said softly, it was politely phrased, but it was a direct order. Tas understood this and bowed deeply with a sweeping arm to Severus Snape with a soft

“Tas hears, Tas obeys.” Then he promptly vanished, still in a low bow, with a quiet ‘pop’ leaving the portrait on the floor.

Beccos shook himself and stood upright as he spoke with a ringing timbre to his voice. Severus could tell that though Ostiarius was echoing Beccos’s speech downstairs, this was Castle’s true voice. It rang like the sounding of a set of gongs, each syllable intoned through the very walls and floors as the whole of Castle reacted. The power was breathtaking and Severus had no choice but to melt back into his seat or risk being shaken to the floor.

“We are Castle. We are the fifth member of the Charter of Hogwarts. We were there the day it was signed. We witnessed the bright hopes and dreams the Four Founders had for Hogwarts. Plans and aspirations for the students that walked these halls, dreams for the future of the Wizarding World. We are Castle. For centuries we nurtured and defended, tutored and guided, upheld the rules and bent them. We were given the task of aiding the students and the staff of Hogwarts, of acting as eyes and ears for the Headmasters and Headmistresses, and we were blessed with the power to do so. We are steeped and set in magic. Our job is to defend. Our job is to teach. Our job is to guide. Our job is to protect.

"It was never the wish of the Founders Four for the Houses to be so divided. In the beginning the four houses were taught together, housed together, ate together, learned and loved and played together. In the beginning, the Houses were only tools the professors used for discipline and reward, for fostering gentle competition, for providing a safe and familiar place for students of like mind to land after mingling with those of different strengths. It was only in the terms of Headmaster Dippet and the chessmaster that the Houses saw such an intense separation and a striving, and it was during the start of the term of the chessmaster that they were completely torn asunder and pitted against one another. This was a grievous mistake for it bred the ground upon which he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle built his prejudice and his hatred and his fear, it tilled the soil for him to grow in to what he became. The chessmaster was at the forefront of that plowing.” Here a great gust of wind filled the air, cool and crisp and it died away in a whistling wail almost like a cry of anguish.

“The chessmaster should never have taken the office of Headmaster. He did so for the honor and the glory and the adoration of the title and to gain access to the knowledge We hold here for his own gains and his own ends. We saw him and heard his muttered plans to become a Lord of Light and We questioned him and found him wanting. Had We been consulted the chessmaster would never have set foot inside these walls as Headmaster. We were not consulted. Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster, and on the very night of his instatement made his moves to become the chessmaster of these halls. 

"Our power is to protect, to defend, Castle is bound by the charter to work closely with the Headmaster to ensure the safety and the success of each and every student that comes through these doors. That is our purpose. That is our design. We see and We hear and We intervene if needed.” The walls and floor and ceiling suddenly rumbled like the growl of an angry predator and the heralding roll of distant thunder as the room darkened a little.

“We did our duty. From the beginning of his appointment, We did our duty. The chessmaster preformed dangerous spells, brewed potions designed for ill intent in the dead of night, built the foundations of the chessboard he would later use to corrupt and twist those he was supposed to support and teach, to correct and lead. We stopped him. We moved his cauldrons and shook his instruments and disrupted his delicately balanced machines to foil as many of the malicious workings the chessmaster attempted as We could. We made the chessmaster angry. He bade us be silent and still with his workspaces and his Office, he demanded Beccos ‘shut up unless it was vitally important’ by which he meant We should not interrupt him if a student was being mistreated or a staff member wished to speak to him about a concern. He was cruel to the House Elves who served him and spoke on Our behalf. Each and every gentle attempt to warn, to offer advice, to correct, to ask for aid where it was needed was ignored. And each attempt to communicate made the chessmaster angrier and angrier.” Here the portraits and the statues let out a wordless, rage filled shout. The volume with which the Castle spoke rose to a thunderous level.

“In 1927, he crossed a line. The Chessmaster BETRAYED US AND HIS HOUSE, BETRAYED THE FOUNDERS AND HIS STUDENTS. He failed to protect and defend. He failed to lend aid to a student who needed it. HE FAILED! CASTLE WARNED HIM. CASTLE PLEADED. He. Did. NOTHING. So Castle stepped in. Castle upheld Castle’s first sworn duty. The duty to protect. Castle called upon the suits of armor in the hall to defend the student in need of aid. CASTLE DID OUR DUTY. The chessmaster was furious. He screamed and raged and tried to smash Beccos into pieces, he told Castle it was not Castle’s duty to ‘unnecessarily punish’ “his” students. When Castle tried to reason with the chessmaster through Beccos, HE CURSED BECCOS AND BOUND HIM TO BE SILENT. Silent and cold and still. He SILENCED CASTLE’S VOICE!” This was clearly screamed out in a mournful wailing cry that echoed out into the night and was pitched in a way that made the living ears listening ring.

"After that, though We raged at him, begged him, pleaded with him in every way We could, tried in vain to get his attention, the chessmaster refused to listen to Us. He sought out the workings of Our enchantments, he read through the Founding Charter and he began to bind Us. To make Us less able to do our duty. He slowed Us and stilled Us. He quieted Us and froze Us and made Us dumb. The chessmaster cut Our ties to the portraits and the ghosts and the House Elves. He made Us able to bend only where he willed Us to bend, to speak and move only as he wished.” There was a discontented murmur among the portraits as the trembling throughout the stonework got intense enough to rattle them a little in their frames, but it appeared to be a murmuring of agreement for Castle’s benefit and not a response to the commotion. A ringing bugling rush filled the air before Castle continued. The roar of anger was very hard to miss.

“Over years and time he froze Us stone by stone and statue by statue until We were NO LONGER Castle. Until we were a TOMB. A TOMB. A DRY AND EMPTY TOMB FOR THE CHARTER TO BE LAID TO REST AND FORGOTTON. The chessmaster buried Us alive in Our own self. He cut Us off from our hallways and our corridors and our grounds. He cursed the Forest and made it Forbidden. And We were forced to listen to the anguished cries and the quiet tears in the dark, the frantic pleading, the angry shouts and the confusion as any sort of peace and comradery We had fought to maintain disappeared under the chessmaster’s bile and lies and hatred. We were forced to watch as he turned the Houses against one another in earnest and sought to always elevate his precious Gryffindors above all others.

"We watched the students hurt and shame one another, We lost the ability to guide and to nurture as the chessmaster shut the portraits up and froze the statues to their stands and befuddled the clarity of the ghosts. We watched. WE WATCHED and WE SAW and WE COULD DO NOTHING!” The floors and walls reverberated like a belfry tower as Castle lamented.

“WE WERE CHAINED AND MADE USELESS AND THE CHESSMASTER CONGRATULATED HIMSELF AND CALLED IT GOOD!” This was a deafening roar that shook through Castle from the depth of the dungeons to the minarets. Severus rubbed at his throbbing ears.

“We watched in Anguish as Tom Riddle was swept onto a chess board he mistakenly thought he controlled. We watched in Anguish, mute and struggling against our chains as he was denied Sanctuary. Denied when it would have given him a place to belong and a legacy to hunt after, and a purpose that was not ever being skewed by a lying, cursing tongue. Denied sanctuary for it would have woken Us. Denied sanctuary and protection BECAUSE OF US. Because of the hatred of the chessmaster and his pride and arrogance and malice. We watched in mourning and in fear as Tom Riddle was so easily manipulated and twisted into a bitter young man bent on retribution and revenge, as his year mates were twisted alongside him. We watched in anguish as pranks became punishments and teasing became terrible and troubling torture spells. WE WATCHED and could do NOTHING to prevent the pain. WE COULD NOT INTERVENE for we were BOUND and CHAINED and MUZZLED like a dog.

"We watched two twisted minds duel it out with living breathing Witches and Wizards. We watched and we despaired.

“Castle Saw. Castle knows the dark nights and awful days Severus Tobias Snape. Castle despaired for We could do NOTHING. Castle raged when Tom Riddle learned of his true lineage, for We were there when Salazar asked us to build the Chamber of Secrets. We raged for We were powerless to seal it off from Tom Riddle’s questing, searching, grasping fingers. We were unable to do anything that the chessmaster did not wish us to do. WE COULD HAVE PREVENTED THE ENTIRE WAR. WE WERE UNABLE TO DO ANYTHING WE WERE TASKED WITH DOING. It is all on the head of the chessmaster. We were there when Tom Riddle opened the Chamber, Our ire was so great that we shook the foundations in spite of Our chains just enough to make the chessmaster clap with glee.

"We were there, unable to stop the foul tide from washing over the school as students were petrified and Hagrid was wrongfully accused. We were there when an innocent life was taken and treated as a flippant inconvenience, We were there when her ghost was trapped and cursed by the DELIBERATE mishandling of her death. We were there through all of the machinations of two powerfully cunning wizards. WE WERE THERE AND WE COULD DO NOTHING.”

“The House Elves helped Castle as much as they could, but they had to be careful, for they received the notice of the chessmaster and were harshly reprimanded. Their aid gave Castle just the smallest bit of freedom. Enough to shift the tiniest bit even though the chessmaster still had Castle firmly chained to his will.

“We watched and could do nothing but rattle the chains that bound us as Tom Riddle became he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle. As death and destruction and terror and pain became the delight of his terrible heart. We were unable to guide him, to teach him, to prevent him from gaining access to the tools that enabled his transformation. We would have been able to prevent his rise if the chessmaster had not bound us. That knowledge chafes us. We were FORCED to fail. FORCED to watch Our failing. FORCED to listen to the unbridled glee of the chessmaster, robed in twisted light as he played out his greatest of chess games.

"We were forced to watch as uneasy, hollow peace settled over Hogwarts, over the Wizarding World of Europe. Forced to recognize that the chess game had not been played out to its conclusion. Anguished and anxious and straining at Our chains, unable to do anything meaningful to intervene. We were forced to watch as the chessmaster twisted his knight and his pawns even in the pause of the game due to an unforeseen element. We were forced to watch in baited anger as a hunted and cursed infant was denied sanctuary because the chessmaster wished a matching set of twisted knights bent to his will and did not wish to wake Castle. He would have had Castle bound for all eternity if he could have done so. He buried all but the most cursory references to the Sanctuary Spell that he could find.

“We were forced to listen to his vile plans. He knew that the Dursley home was dangerous before he ever mentioned it as a home to the Order of the Phoenix, he knew it was a breeding ground for pain and anguish and he reveled in it. He reveled in the creation of his knights as he-who-had-been-Tom-Riddle reveled in the creation of his own. Castle saw, and Castle could do NOTHING.

“Castle gained enough power by the time that Harry Potter turned eleven to nudge a part of Us in an attempt to turn the tide. It was all we could do. We were forced to sit back exhausted and watch the machinations of a mad chessmaster all over again with another innocent little boy. Another student body who was not safe. Another Hogwarts bathed in blood and fear. We were forced to watch and do nothing. We gained a little bit of power when the chessmaster willingly allowed himself to be cursed in order to chain your hands to his death Severus Tobias Snape. We saw and we could still do very little.

Castle gained more power with the death of the chessmaster, though most of our chains were still in place. We gained enough freedom to prevent sixteen deaths during the Final Battle and ensure that the werewolf Greyback died. Had we been fully awake, the Final Battle would never have occurred at all. You woke Us with the invocation of the _Sanctuarium Saecula_ Severus Tobias Snape, and now that We are awake, We will do what We can to repair the damage done. We lament that any damage is there to repair, We mourn and rage at one beyond the veil who started two wars in pursuit of his own fame and recognition, who started two wars to feel important and needed and vital to the world. We rage at one who began a chess game he should never have started and We mourn for all that is beyond repair.”

With that last word, the Castle faded into silence. A ringing, hollow silence in which every living being within the walls sat stunned and weary, hardly daring to make a movement. The only sound in the Headmaster’s office was the frantic scratching of the Dictoquill on the parchment. There were no dry eyes within Castle’s walls. The human Witches and Wizards sat for a long time saying nothing as the night wore on.


	5. Castle Sees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Severus gets overwhelmed and Castle Sees and gives him a gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well my lovelies, I am so sorry for the bit of a hiatus on this story, Smoke is currently on Hiatus, if you're wondering about that please feel free to head over to Badger's profile page and read all about it. Suffice to say lots of things have transpired in both mine and Badger's worlds as of late. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm hoping there are many more in future with less time between, but we shall see. 
> 
> regards, 
> 
> SoupShue

After Castle had finished speaking, while Headmaster sat staring at his desk and the quill scratched feverishly at the parchment with the portraits looking on and the furious visage of a dressed down and found out Chessmaster curling innocently on the smooth stones of the floor, there was a discreet slight popping sound. Tas appeared before the fireplace in a grand sweeping bow, he held it for a minute or so before straightening, his large, luminous eyes fixed on Severus Snape.  The man kept his head bowed with his face in his hands silent and still as death in his thoughts. Castlebury sighed a little taking in the nervous, slightly trembling house elf and nodding at Beccos. She stood and spoke, her voice soft but still clearly heard in the silent office. 

“Headmaster, you have called Tas the house elf come to you and he is here. I know that the Castle has laid much bare tonight, but there is yet more to tell. If you wish to postpone the airing of such secrets, Castle would not blame you, but kindly dismiss Tas so he can return to the kitchens.” Severus’s head came up out of his hands at Madam Catlebury’s first few words and he shook himself a little with a polite nod as she finished speaking, looking over to where Tas stood by the fireplace. 

“Forgive me. I was lost in thought. Please come to my desk and speak Tas.” Severus said calmly, he was exhausted and grieved beyond imagining and he had to steel himself because he knew it was about to get worse. Tas nodded his ears staying well back and very low, his eyes just barely meeting Severus’s for the briefest moment before he skittered closer on shaky limbs to stand at the left of Severus’s desk. He kept his eyes half on Severus and half on Beccos’s statue, his feet shuffled a little on the floor, his long toes gripping the smooth stone floors and tapping absently in a gentle, idle caress. 

“What does Headmaster wish to know?” Tas asked wringing his spidery fingers together as he looked at Severus briefly. 

“What was it that the house elves couldn’t do with Castle bound, Tas?” Severus made the question pointed with a raised eyebrow, it was the closest he’d ever seen a house elf to being evasive. Tas looked to Beccos for a moment, taking a large breath and then looking back at Severus. 

“Castle is an ancient Lady, She has much power, She is connected to Us and the House Elves to Her. While She was bound, so were We, the Chessmaster would not let many of us leave Castle’s walls. We could not serve the young Masters and Ladies as We did before. We helped Castle and the Groundskeeper take care of much of the Lady’s grounds before then, but the Chessmaster did not wish us to leave often. We were within Castle’s walls but could not, could not sense Her needs. House Elves could not move freely around all of the rooms and corridors and passageways and grounds and chambers, and dungeons and mazes and observatories and all the other places we used to be able to go.

“House Elves could not repair or touch all of the damage or dirt or disrepair we could before, we could not go everywhere we were needed. The House Elves used to help the young Ladies and Masters find their way around, if they needed help or they got lost and there was not a portrait or a statue or a ghost to help, the House Elves would lead them back. Sometimes Castle would call on a House Elf to help a young Master or a young Lady first,” Here Tas stood up straight and proud and beamed, his whiskery ears going up high to the top of his head in joy and satisfaction before he added almost conspiratorially to Severus, “Castle Sees and Castle Knows. We used to help the first years get to the Great Hall if they couldn’t use the little boats or the older years if they could not ride in the carriages drawn by the thestrals.” 

Severus started at this announcement. He had not thought of that potentially tricky situation yet, there was so much to think about and to do before the students came back to the Castle to start their first fall term after the War. He hadn’t given two moment’s thought to the student’s reaction to thestrals, the subject being sadly considered a bit of a taboo among many Wizarding households who were uncomfortable and avoidant of talking about Tom Riddle’s reign of terror and reluctant to reveal the signs of his influence. Thestrals were rather gentle creatures and it was a shame and a pity that they looked as they did and you could only see them if you’d seen death. 

“That is a fair point, there will be many more students who can see the thestrals now. Would the other House Elves be willing to help them again if it is needed?” Severus asked, watching as Tas perked up, his body vibrating slightly as his feet beat a happy, tattooing rhythm on the floor. 

“Oh yes, yes! Headmaster, House Elves love to help, thank you Headmaster!” A wide grin split his wrinkled face as he beamed up at Severus for a moment before he crowed to the Castle and the portraits and Beccos with a laugh. 

“Great Lady! Headmaster Snape is making Us so happy, so happy! Did you Hear Great Lady! Headmaster Snape honors Us!”  Beccos straightened from his curled position, a toothy smile on his face, his voice softer and lower and more gravelly than Severus had ever heard as Beccos regarded the wizened and ancient elf who was fairly dancing at the Headmaster’s side. 

“Indeed Tas, We Heard, We See and We Know. Well We mark the honor of Severus Tobias Snape, well We know his triumphs and his pain and his sacrifices, well We mark his deeds. Long may his term here be.” Beccos nodded to Severus and spoke something in a language Severus had never heard for a moment to Tas who froze and quivered, before he nodded and bobbed a respectful bow to the statue as Beccos settled back to rest.

Before Severus could ask, Tas took a deep breath, turning swimming amber eyes up to meet his fully for the first time. 

“House Elves had power before the chessmaster chained Us. House Elves helped when mischief happened, when there was pain, or tears, or comfort needed. When small ones needed friends and tall ones needed cutting down, House Elves had power. House Elves were safe, we did not have to punish ourselves nor be punished for telling the Headmaster the Professors or the Head Boys or Girls when things were amiss. We were safe when Castle couldn’t stop troublemaking students without harming them, We had power to listen to Castle’s rules above the rules of certain Wizards and Witches. Castle is very old and very powerful and Castle’s founders come from a long line of respectful Lords and Ladies who realized the power House Elves hold. Chessmaster dismissed Us, bound Us with our Great Lady even as he underestimated Us. 

Only later he realized the power there is in serving the Witches and Wizards and being called to places of great Magical Power when House Elves started unbinding some of the Great Lady’s chains. He was very angry and he punished us severely, so he did. Only later it was that he saw his error of thinking Us beneath notice to the end when Dobby, who is beyond the veil, and Winky, who is in mourning, showed him the errors he had made. When he saw what Master Tom Riddle asked of Master Regulus to be required of Kreature; and when he saw what role Hokey played in the journeys he took in the pensive. Only then did he realize his mistake. 

The chessmaster tried to buy Dobby’s loyalty, but Dobby was a free elf to his bones, loyal only to those he chose. He was a most peculiar House Elf, he was, and glad We were that he was here when Mistress Granger tried to free Us. Though some of Us disliked him for his desire to be freed, Tas says and Castle says bright and blessed may he be beyond the veil.”  There was a quiet murmur of assent from many of the portraits who were intently listening.

Severus didn’t fully understand the subtleties of what Tas was implying, but he sensed that it was of great importance to the house elves and to Castle, he was starting to get a raging headache. He took a breath and looked to Beccos. There was no harm in admitting to the Castle that he was out of his element when it came to the tenuous politics involving house elves, indeed he was becoming so tired it was getting difficult to keep everything straight. He was suddenly very glad of the dictoquill furiously scribbling away on his desk.  

“Beccos, a word?” He asked. 

“Yes Headmaster?” Beccos said, tilting his head inquiringly as he stood once more on his pedestal. 

“I am unsure of what must be done here. There is great wrong and much pain done to the house elves of Hogwarts, but I do not understand what I must do to repair it.” The gargoyle smiled, a tiny lift of the corner of his mouth. 

“Release them to serve you, Headmaster, release them to do as they have ever done, to aid the School of Hogwarts and all who live there to the best of their ability. You are Headmaster and only you have the right to grant or deny them full privileges. You, Severus Tobias Snape, as Headmaster of Hogwarts control all of the House Elves within these walls, you have authority to limit their power and dictate their duties, to command them almost anything. Release the chains the chessmaster placed by ordering the house elves be silent, and to stay only within Our walls. We cannot do so, it is you who must.” 

Severus nodded. So much that was wrong here, so much he didn’t even know, wasn’t even aware of. Now the responsibility to make it right seemed to rest squarely with him for so much. 

“Alright. Listen well Tas, mark what I say. I Headmaster Severus Tobias Snape hereby grant permission to the house elf Tas and to all house elves who live and serve within these walls of Hogwarts to move freely about the grounds and the Castle of Hogwarts and to undertake all responsibilities they held before Headmaster Albus Dumbledore ordered their silence and cooperation with his plans. I hereby order all house elves within these walls to report anything that is in need of attention to the staff at any time.” Beccos crowed and the Castle walls let out a series of high bell like chimes as Tas shrieked a raucous 

“We Hear and Obey Headmaster!” amid cheers from all of the portraits.

“Well Done Headmaster Snape, We See and We Mark what has been said.” Chimed Beccos with another small bow as he sat upright on his pedestal. Another question came to him as he listened to the happy cacophony, he really needed to sleep, but he had to know.

“What happened Tas? What happened with the student the night Beccos was silenced?” Severus asked when there was a lull in the cheering. The atmosphere in the room suddenly went still and cool, the floor rumbled in discontent as a wave almost like a convulsive shiver went through the floor of the office. Severus watched in fascination as Tas’s ears waved and twitched back and forth like an anxious horse about to bolt, his whole body began to tremble and he clutched his chest tightly as though it pained him. The ancient house elf backed up slowly until he was pressed up against the wall never taking his focus off of Headmaster. He shook his head slightly back and forth his mouth opening and closing a little while almost sound came out. Before Tas or Severus could say anything Beccos said harshly, angrily, shortly.

“We do not speak of it.” With a nod so sharp that Severus heard Beccos’s stone chin clink against his chest. Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. What did it say about Wizarding Britain that a glorious and magnificent Castle had horrific events and traumatic things that it buried deeply and chose to try and forget? He was certain it said nothing good. 

“There is much we do not speak of in the Wizarding World that needs to be spoken of Beccos, much as I respect the Castle’s pain over the subject, I do need to know what happened here.” He said firmly though not unkindly directing his full attention to the gargoyle. Beccos declined to reply, merely keeping his stone gaze fixed on the Headmaster. Before Severus could demand Tas or Beccos tell the story, Miriam Castlebury stood in her portrait once again and cleared her throat loudly. Severus whipped his head around to face her. Her eyes were sad but her chin was set stubbornly as she gazed solemnly out at him from her frame. Her voice was even and calm, but there was an edge Severus couldn’t quite place as she spoke to him. 

“Let Tas back to the comfort of the kitchens Severus Snape, it is late in the evening and much has been said. Your counterparts within these walls have already sought their beds it is time for a break for living Wizards Headmaster though they may be. When you have rested, I give my word I shall tell this tale though it pains me beyond all imagining. Tas will not speak of it. Beccos cannot. Rest now, and when you are ready, light the fire in your hearth Headmaster Snape, sit comfortably and call my name and I shall tell you that which you wish to know.” A wry smile graced her lips for a moment before she added “indeed, you have after all commanded that I do so without artifice.” Severus nodded tiredly and turned to Tas. 

“You may go back to the kitchens Tas, thank you for sharing what you have tonight.” Tas disappeared with a nod a mere breath after Severus finished speaking. 

He sighed and rose, nodding at the portraits solemnly regarding him from all the walls, they nodded back and gave soft farewells and good nights as Severus retired to his chambers for some needed sleep. 

His rest was fitful and his dreams dangerous. Flashes of his time lying bloodied on the floor of the Shrieking Shack with Wormtail glaring over him screaming “Crucio!” dark moments when he’d thought all hope was lost, coming upon Smoke’s torture. He tossed and turned for four hours before staring up at his dark ceiling with a sigh. His headache had eased but the bone deep weariness was still heavily shrouding him. 

He forced himself to remain prone on his bed, still and quiet, breathing slowly and deliberately and deeply for another hour before he gave the notion of sleep up for a lost cause and sat up. He shrugged on a robe once more and moved back to the office. Most of the portraits were settled and slumbering but when he whispered quietly from directly beneath Miriam Castlebury’s portrait, she opened her eyes and looked down at him solemnly.  

“Very well Headmaster, have a seat before your fire and I shall tell what I know.” At her words, the rest of the portraits came to wakefulness all in an instant. The walls and floor grumbled slightly and settled and then brightened with a fitful orange gleam like the heart of an ember for a moment. The orange red glow didn’t disappear when the walls became simple gray white stone once more and Severus turned to find the hearth had been lit and a comfortable chair was pulled close to the warmth of the blaze. He didn’t wish to think of why the Castle seemed so concerned for his comfort, he had no doubt that the story was not going to be the most pleasant one to hear.  Instead of questioning the efforts that Castle made, he crossed the floor and settled down, he found that once seated he was in the perfect position to converse with both Miriam’s portrait and Beccos should he wish to speak. 

He looked Miriam directly in the eyes and said softly, simply. “If you would madam.” 

She sighed, a strange air of shifting tension filled the room as the rest of the portraits turned to face her and Headmaster Snape. Castlebury settled herself deeply into her chair and took a deep breath before she spoke.

“The year that the…Chessmaster… silenced Beccos – silenced Castle, a new student came to Hogwarts.  She was lovely, quiet, reserved, and very shy. She was sorted, quite to her liking, mind you, into Hufflepuff.  She wasn't used to so many people being around her; I'm not quite sure, perhaps she was an only child, but she had a few…issues with being surrounded by people.  At any rate, she became a favorite target for certain…attentions. Negative attentions. Castle did what She could to provide a safe place, but, well, it was getting harder and harder for Castle to make safe ways through for anyone, Wizard or house elf. 

“After a while this young student begged her parents to bring her home. I know that she implored them many times but they refused; I can't speak for their intentions, perhaps they could not school her at home, perhaps they simply didn't understand how…well.  How dangerous her situation was becoming. In any case, she stayed here at Hogwarts and the situation soured. The portraits kept watch and reported the teasing and antics of the students involved as often as they could, the ghosts alerted the Professors to the problem, but there was little We could do to intervene. So little. If only the Chessmaster had deigned to intervene then, before things became so serious. If Castle had only been at full strength….” 

Miriam trailed off and rubbed at her forehead, pulling a lacy handkerchief from a pocket of her robes, she dabbed at her eyes and laid it daintily in her lap as she took a breath and looked around at her companions before turning back to Headmaster Snape and taking up the tale once more.

"She was quite fond of a few of the House Elves, and they of her.  I would venture to guess she was a favorite of a great many of them, in fact, as kind and as sweet natured as she was.  They tried, dear souls, to chaperone her, but…well…HE," her voice became vehemently venomous as she referred once more to Dumbledore, "had already begun his machinations to shut Castle down.  And that included taking a great deal of the House Elf autonomies away from them.” Here a discontented murmur spread through the room and a new tone took over, every eye was on the Headmaster as Miriam continued speaking. 

"The day…the day that Castle was silenced…" Miriam took a deep breath and looked away for a moment.  "The day that Castle was silenced, the poor girl was lured, yes I said it and I believe it yet. This girl was lured into some of the dungeon corridors.  They can be confusing even for those of us who know this Castle well, and Castle could not aid as Castle once did. The fact is that this young Hufflepuff had avoided going any deeper than the Potions classroom before this day. I know not what ruse was invented that she made her way deeper into the dungeons, I don’t know.  

I don't know how; why it got so out of hand. I don't know…I don't know that her attackers meant it to be anything more than a vile prank to begin with. It would have been bad enough had it only been so. But by the time it was over, it had gone far too far, far indeed too far, and Beccos, Beccos and Snuffles and Wisdom were all screaming to try to get someone's attention.  The Hufflepuff Head of house was on his way and the Slytherin Head, to be fair, tried desperately to find them. But Dumbledore ignored the warning, ignored the summons, ignored - purposely ignored, a student being assaulted by other students.

"I don’t know why.  None of us know why, we will never know why.  We know that the portraits in the dungeon tried to guide the teachers to the…the attack.  And we know what happened next. Castle managed to slip a leash – I don’t know how, only Castle could say - and come to the young lady’s aid. Half a dozen suits of armor leapt to her defense, surrounding her on all sides, and banged their swords upon their armor until at last the Heads of House found her.  Luckily, very luckily, no permanent physical damage had been done.  I…I'm not sure about…emotional.  Or mental.

"Castle was livid.  Castle…I'm not sure how She did it, or even exactly what She did, but the ruffians who attacked the poor girl were found outside the gates, the gates securely locked against them, a few hours later.  She had banished them.  And he, he who was sworn to defend and protect the students here, he had the unmitigated gall and dastardly arrogance, arrogance," she repeated herself, jumping to her feet face red, near shouting now, "to reinstate them into classes!  To bring them right back into the bloody fold, poor dear boys, they made a mistake!  A MISTAKE!"  She was screaming now, loud enough that Severus pressed his fingers to his temple. The walls rumbled loudly like the growl of some stalking predator and the air grew heavy with the scent of ozone for a moment. The frames of all the portraits began to skitter against the stonework at their backs as their occupants whispered, the sound very like the hissing of a deadly serpent for a moment before they fell silent so that Miriam Castlebury could continue. 

"Beg pardon," she said a moment later, her frame still shaking in its place upon the wall as she paced slowly within the bounds of her frame.  "Beg pardon, Headmaster.  It still upsets me."

"No, I quite understand," he murmured. It upset him as well.  "Please.  Continue, if you can, my Lady."

"Indeed.  Well.  Beccos informed the Chessmaster, after the…incident, after Castle had sent the armored defenders to her aid, what Castle had done.  And instead of saying thank you, Castle, for helping me, thank you, Castle, for seeing to her aid, the -- I can be a lady no longer.  The bloody rotten bastard locked Beccos' jaws, stripped him of his ability to speak, all the while lecturing Castle about boundaries and how She had broken them!  Well, what do you call gagging a magical creature?  What do you call chaining a living being?  Enslaving one? And not only Castle but the Elves and the Ghosts and all who live within Her walls?  

"I am sorry, Headmaster, for becoming so overwrought.  I am indeed, it is unbecoming of a Lady and a Headmistress of Hogwarts.  But you must agree, Castle did nothing wrong in this instance.  Beccos, especially, did nothing wrong.  And yet he was punished, Castle was punished and there was nothing, nothing, any of us could do…" She sank back into her seat, pale faced and shaking and fished  another handkerchief from her robes blotting at her face and breathing heavily as she joined the other portraits in watching Headmaster Snape. 

“No, there was nothing you could have done differently.” Severus murmured looking long and hard at Albus’s portrait on the floor. The man was still shouting silently, words no doubt, in defense of his reprehensible actions that day, words that Severus was very glad he could not hear at that moment. He could understand why Castle had thrown the portrait from the wall, why Tas had tossed it about wildly, he had a strange desire to do so himself. 

“What should we do with you?” He murmured to the portrait curling on the floor, half aloud, mostly to himself. In response to the soft inquiry, a ringing chime sounded and then a peculiar dry, rasping, shuffling sound halfway between the grind of stonework and the sliding of a snake along dry leaves filtered through the room. A stone snake carving made its way from a section of the Crown molding over the fireplace, its cousins sliding to fill the gap it left as it wriggled free. It slid down the front of the chimney face, dropped over the mantelpiece, worked its way down the legs of the fireplace and curled in the middle of the hearth bobbing its head and staring at Severus tasting the air a few times with its tongue. 

A dry, deep rasping hiss built and pulsed and coiled in the air as the snake spoke. There was a long string of harsh hisses and rasping shushing sounds and then the snake ended with a phrase in straight, human accented Parseltongue that Severus recognized as something Nagini had spoken to the Dark Lord during one of their very unnerving conversations.  

“Sssssssssaiassssaishasssssssieeeethhh. Siiiaahassssshhhhhhhhhhhiiiasshhhethesss.” The snake gave a liquid sort of swaying nod in the air and then fell silent weaving slightly as it waited for a reply.  There were many things Severus Tobias Snape could claim to be, but a Parselmouth was not one of them. He nodded to the snake and looked about at all of the portraits. Then he turned back to the snake and spoke as respectfully as possible given the late hour and the level of unease and anger he was feeling. 

“I am sorry, forgive my ignorance, but I do not speak or understand Parseltongue. I must ask someone to translate that for me.” There was a moment of silence and then the snake let out a flurry of short bursting hisses that Severus swore was snaky laughter. Beccos perked up and stretched grinning a little. 

“I shall translate Headmaster.  Wisdom asked his cousin before you to bind the portrait of the Chessmaster so We do not have to look upon it. To bind him as We were bound and in darkness keep him. Wisdom says We may not destroy him for his true nature is known only to a few and his legend is far greater than any truth we might expose to tarnish it. There are those who will still wish to consult with him. If you would kindly roll his canvas up, Sagacity upon your hearthstone will secure it until you can find a suitable location to store it. Castle does not want the Chessmaster’s likeness here any longer than necessary.” Beccos grimaced as he looked to Albus’s portrait lying curled on the stone floor, the edges trembled and swayed lightly with a vibration that seemed to be a special torment designed just for him. 

Severus sat for a long moment in contemplative silence staring at Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore’s portrait. A man who had garnered much adoration and respect, an esteemed member of many prestigious Guilds, a man both loved and hated, revered and reviled. One who fought against the Ministry to enact change and reform and institute great policies for the Wizarding Community. A man who had taken up the task of teaching and guiding many hopeful generations of bright and promising Wizards and Witches. A man who had done much for the betterment of the Wizarding World. 

A man who lay broken and screaming in silence before him now, a man accused of horrendous crimes against those he had been meant to protect, a man revealed as a bitter Lord of Light. A man only concerned with his own ego and legacy, caring nothing for the suffering and torment of others so long as it served his cause. Albus Dumbledore, the Chessmaster, lay before him now and Severus had no choice but to face him. What he saw was not the kind and slightly eccentric Headmaster who spouted off about nitwits and oddments at the Welcome Feast, what he saw was not the gentle face of a man by the fire puzzling over the complexities of some esoteric magical conundrum, what Severus saw was not even the man fighting to take down the Dark Lord wracked in pain and cursed begging for his life. Severus looked at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore and he saw a monster. 

__      The flickering orange light of the fire played along the edges of the canvas throwing sharp daggered shadows across the gray stone that trembled and shifted as he watched. He could not believe that Albus Dumbledore the scholar, the explorer, the procurer of magical oddities and rarities would deal an awe inspiring marvel like the Castle so great an injustice, but he did not believe the Castle capable of such an elaborate deceit. He did not think that the House Elves could lie in such a manner, nor the portraits nor the ghosts - not if directly commanded by one in authority to tell the truth.  The picture that Castle painted of Dumbledore was harsh. It did not fit with the man that he had served and remained loyal to for more than fifteen years. Severus sat in silence, watching shadows and light dance and war against each other, watching them twine together and pull apart and he tried and tried, and yet could not reconcile these two versions of his mentor.

Severus couldn’t reconcile the mentor who fought long and hard to find the keys to the Dark Lord’s fall with the man who cruelly gleefully and knowingly set up the foundations for his rise. He could not. He tried to wrap his brain around the twists and turns of any warped path that would connect two opposite truths in a way that didn’t paint the man before him as a manipulative liar and he could not do so. The sheer mental acrobatics involved made Severus dizzy. There wasn’t enough mental elasticity to cope with trying to compare a lighthearted, goofy man standing up for a group of ragtag students fighting the Ministry of Magic in his name and the man who would deliberately ignore a student in danger, not only ignore the torment and bullying but bind those who dared intervene against his direct orders. 

The Albus Dumbledore Severus knew would have tried to delve deeper into the Castle’s secrets, to unlock its mysteries and unravel the complexities of the magic that allowed such a wonderful being to exist. Yet there was significant evidence and testimony to the contrary. The facts did not lie. Dumbledore had ignored, tormented, frozen, bound and gagged a being whose only purpose in existing was to AID Him in his endeavors. He had chained and scorned one of the most elegant and beautiful and enchanting wonders that Severus had ever had the pleasure to discover. Dumbledore had wanted to bury Castle’s existence as though Castle was simply the building that housed Hogwarts and not a dynamic and key safeguard to keep Hogwarts running smoothly, to protect and defend those within the walls, to uphold the edicts of the Founding Charter, and to foster safety and comfort for all who came to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had enslaved the Castle, twisted Her wonderful purpose and denied her her freedoms, and not only Castle but those who aided Castle in ensuring that all was well. 

It was a wrenching pain deep in his bones to realize that the doubts of the good that Albus was doing with his actions had almost always lived within him. The man was a wordsmith and a master of manipulation, he understood mental combat better than any born legilimens. He could twist and redirect and falsify and disarm almost any opponent in a game of wits and words if he chose to, he was charismatic and engaging, quirky and a bit of a buffoon. If Severus was being totally honest with himself, he knew that he’d been harboring doubts about the truthfulness of that Albus Dumbledore for a very long time. Doubts that had only been strengthened and grown new roots when he’d been able to speak at length with Aberforth. Albus Dumbledore enjoyed the prestige of a great and grand reputation, he enjoyed having his ego stroked and his intellect praised. Albus Dumbledore was a master at many different complex, mysterious, and arcane arts. A man to be lauded for his myriad and wonderful accomplishments. Humble, Albus Dumbledore was not. 

Wildly clever and a radical thinker, but not truly kind. Indeed, Albus had doled out kindness and respect and consideration to tie people to him, not out of true compassion or friendship. It was likely that his only true compatriot, the only man he had considered to be his friend had been Grindlewald… Severus shuddered as a cold chill crawled up his back from the base of his spine and settled just at the base of his neck like a claw.    

Was he really going to accuse his mentor and the mastermind behind the many long years of careful and dangerous subterfuge and double crossing and the careful subtle plan that led the ultimate demise of the Dark Lord of orchestrating such a horrid, wretched game? Was he really going to name Albus as the Chessmaster? He did not know and could not say yet. Rage and despair and sorrow and desperate anguish crashed over him all at once in a chaotic and breath robbing wave. He flew to his feet gripping his chest tightly for a long moment never taking his eyes off of the bloody canvas on his office floor. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore, red faced and overwrought stopped screaming and stood. Still and silent with tears streaming down its face as a pleading and innocent and calm countenance came over Albus. In that moment he looked much as he had in the early years of Severus’s friendship with him. Portrait Albus leaned towards him and enunciated two distinct words that chilled the Headmaster’s blood. The portrait paused and repeated the words. 

Severus. Please. Severus, please. 

Something inside Severus Tobias Snape, some tenacious and ferocious thing living and breathing in him snapped at that moment. His hand, entirely of its own volition, rose and slashed the air. A drawer in his desk flew open with a protesting screech of wood on wood at the force he applied, but he could not bring himself in that moment to care. Another nerveless wave of his hand had Albus’s portrait sailing like a kite before a summer gale straight into the open drawer, it landed face down inside with a wild fluttering snapping flap before the drawer slammed shut brutally. Another snap of pale and shaking fingers had his broom and a warm cloak sailing to his open palm, but when the tendons in his fingers stood out like knotted cords and his knuckles turned blue with the ferocity of his grasp, he let the broom clatter to the floor in favor of simply stalking to the balcony and flying out into the night.

  He flew with purpose but no destination, full of too many turbulent emotions to contain any longer.  _ Severus, please. Severus, please. Severus, please.  _ a haunting and caustic refrain tumbling about loud as a battle cry and harsh as the death knell it was tumbling around in his head. Those two damned words! Sharp as broken glass, caustic as dragon’s blood. They brought up all of the negative and tense emotions that Severus could never quite suppress, all of the painful uncomfortable memories of the last few years. How dare he! How dare he force Severus to take his life like the bleeding coward he was! Always the mastermind, never truly there when things went to shit unless it suited him, always the one to take the credit and the glory! He’d set his most loyal knight up to take the fall for his death, manipulated events so that he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions, taken himself out of the equation when he would have made a difference, when he could have saved so many lives! The bastard, the rotten bloody bastard! 

How could he think this way of his mentor? Of the man he admired above all else? Of his surrogate father? It was blasphemous preposterous, utter madness! He shook his head to try and clear it, but it did no good. Unbidden a short soft keening whine escaped his throat, he viciously crushed the rest of the sound. Flew faster until the wind rushing against his face drowned out any other noise for a blessed moment and his face went numb with the chill. Only when he was going fast enough that he was sure he was fully over the Forbidden Forest did he allow the agonized shout to be wrenched from his chest and torn away by the wind. Another cry and another and another scraped and clawed their way to the open air from the depth of his being, from the bottom of his soul. They hurt him, physically hurt him, left him gutted and empty and gasping for breath high over the treetops and bathed in the light of a three quarter moon. 

It was a wretched feeling to be utterly alone and utterly empty staring down at the jagged furry crowns of the conifer trees and out over the lake facing all of his greatest doubts and disappointments, his fatally blinded errors in judgement. How could he have been so unaware! How could he have ignored his own frustrations and lingering unease and all of the innocent sounding hints that shouted at him at full volume now, how could he have been so foolish?    

He’d been drifting about somewhere near the unicorn’s burial site silent and lost in acidic thought when a soft hoot distracted him; a clinking fluttering whir sounded by his right ear before a soft white shape flitted at the corner of his eye. A stone owl appeared before his face, it hooted again a little more sharply and then voiced a soft, rolling trill. It flew forward and bumped its beak into his nose gently. After a moment it fluttered a few feet away and hooted again, clacked its beak and flew a few inches to the left in a pointed sharp dart. This happened a few times, the owl making soft but insistent vocalizations, flying forward then turning and looking back at him before darting a few more inches in the left hand direction. Severus got the hint, realized that the owl was not going to give up and that if he raised a wand to it, likely Castle would have words for him and none of them would be kind. He sighed a bit, but turned and began to follow the little stone menace. He wanted to think in solitude! Didn’t he?

The flying owl statue guided him back to the large raven statue at the edge of the Forest. The raven shook and let out a loud and raucous cry. Severus landed, settling a little numbly on the stone bench facing the raven’s face. It bent its head and turned its eye to look Severus directly in the face. 

“You are heavy of heart tonight Headmaster. It is not wise to fly alone tossed about by the winds and your own thoughts in such a state. Especially not over the Forest.” It said, the voice like a small slide of pebbles off a hill. 

“If you will permit Umbra to lead you, she will guide you to a place that might suit you to think, a place apart, a place safe for contemplation, for the tears and words you are yet holding to yourself.” Severus started a little at this and the raven tossed its head and gave a single harsh caw. 

“There are tears upon your cheeks Headmaster, go. let Umbra lead you, she will not take you anywhere amiss.” the raven fell silent, blinked and shook before going still once more, the stone owl - Umbra whisked around the raven statue three times before diving to Severus’s shoulder. She settled there, her weight slight and cool but somehow very soothing in his present state. It was clear that neither the raven nor the owl expected him to reply, they had extended to him a special comfort and now they waited for him to reach for it or deny it. They offered him a quiet company unlike any other he had ever known with human companions for there was no weight of expectation, the silence was neither strained nor tense, is simply was. As Severus sat upon the bench a soft sighing breeze carried the bright and sharp and heavy perfume of the stargazer lilies planted around the raven’s talons. It danced across his cheeks and cooled the tear tracks he was suddenly aware of on his face.

He did not feel comfortable here expressing all of the negative and violent and dark feelings roiling around in his gut, yet he was reluctant to leave this pleasant non-solitude. he shifted uncomfortably on the bench and Umbra clicked her beak quietly and adjusted her grip on his robes. 

“Will you stay if I ask little one?” those words came quite uninvited from his lips, they shocked him. Umbra gave a soft hoot and shifted up his shoulder and beneath his hair then  bumped her head up against his neck under his ear. He shivered with the slight chill her stone surface had picked up from the night air and took that as a yes. 

“Lead on then.” He said, and stood. Umbra chirred, raked a lock of his hair through her beak and then took flight, hovering around the Raven’s proud crown for a moment before she took of in an easternly direction over the Forest. Severus followed her a moment later, her white stone body a pearlescent star bobbing along on the breeze in the moonlight. She took him out low over the Forest, barely high enough to clear the tops of the tallest trees and seemed to be tracing the path of a faint silver glimmer as it wound through the tree trunks below them. Severus gave in to the temptation of concentrating on nothing but following the tiny form in front of him, keeping the howling tempest of his inner conflicts at bay by sheer determination. 

Umbra stopped short, banking and pulling up to flutter over a gap about three meters across in the sweeping canopy of the Forest, she hooted twice softly and was answered by a deeper hoot below from another owl. After a short moment Severus saw a large tawny owl rise silently, gracefully from directly underneath where Umbra hovered before it took off deeper into the Forest after a moment’s pause without once looking at the Headmaster. Umbra rose higher in the air, flapped in a small, quick circle that reminded Severus more of the movements of a hummingbird than an owl looked at him and then dove at a shallow angle through the opening and toward the Forest floor. He went close to the edge of the break and peered down, much was in darkness, but there was the faint glimmer of water just visible in the eerie glow of the moon and the stars.

He descended through the boughs after Umbra. It was a clearing, small and cozy and ethereal, ringed in sound and tall pines and aspens and firs, the spaces between the trunks crowded with some sort of small thorned twiggy dense brush he couldn’t identify in the low light. The clearing was bathed in moon and starlight from above, a small, brilliant brook shining like diamonds and moonstones in the night babbled and chuckled along smooth round stones along its banks and spilled into an almost perfectly circular eddied pool at the edge of the clearing surrounded by mossy boulders before bounding away deeper into the Forest out of sight. A fair amount of monkshood was growing quite happily on the far side of the clearing in and amongst ferns and nearly the entire area was carpeted in small ground hugging round leaved creeping plants that were gilded in light and soft underfoot. shed pine needles banked themselves in drifts against the trunks of the trees, helping to deaden the sounds that filtered through the Forest highlighting the loud, serene and joyous music of the stream.

It was close and comfortable more like a large room than a clearing - not much bigger than his private office at the Castle, difficult to access from the ground by anything larger than a medium sized housecat, and quiet. He stood stock still in the middle of the clearing for a long moment barely daring to breathe. Umbra floated out from the low branch of a pine sapling and settled herself at eye level for a moment before she winged to the boulders, dropping on to the mossy crest of one within Severus’s line of sight without a sound. He took a breath, deep and clean and clear, fresh and invigorating full of the resiny and woodsy scents from all around him and brisk in the late night, he took a breath filling his lungs and held it for a long moment. Unwilling for a tense space of several pounding heartbeats to let go to release the tremendous pressure he felt building inside of his chest that had nothing to do with the air he was trapping in the cage of his ribs.

As he finally released his breath, lungs burning and aching, it rushed out all at once in a blasting gale as he crumpled to his knees and fell apart while Umbra stood watch, a silent sentinel as he grieved. 

He had no clue as to how long he stayed there pouring out his anguish and frustration and bitter aching loneliness. Time stood still and ceased to have meaning for Severus in that space as he ranted and raved at his lost mentor who had become something else, something incomprehensible, something terrible and ugly and sore. He had no ability to keep his composure through this terrible, wonderful rush, this awful cathartic eruption. Severus pounded at the ground and cursed a blue streak to make even a hardened sailor bush and screamed and shouted to the night. 

Through it all he found peace, somehow, in the small, still shape keeping watch for him. A shape that only shifted slightly, fluttering her wings or tilting her head at particularly emphatic moments. A little owl who let him know in her own way that he was no longer alone.

When it was all over, he moved over to the mossy boulders and sat looking at the play of the light over the water and the dance and ripple that bugs made along the surface of the pool. After a moment, a long quiet moment where he rearranged himself back into some semblance of order and decorum, he held out a single forefinger. Umbra hooted softly and alighted looking up into his face as he brought her close. 

“Thank you.” he said softly as he used his thumb to stroke down her carved keel feeling the etched ride of her stone feathers under the pad of his thumb. Umbra chirred and rubbed her beak along the side of his hand. she nibbled at him for a moment before she hop jumped to his shoulder and burrowed under his hair. 

“Thank you.” He said again looking out over the softness of the evening, not yet at peace, but finally feeling on his way to getting there. 

The light in the Forest was changing to the muted gray and lavender and dusky blues of pre dawn and the air was beginning to fill with rolling banks of mist and fog when Severus finally rose and made his way tiredly back to the Castle. When he reached the balcony to his office, he found Tisha waiting with a steaming pot of something that smelled suspiciously like chamomile tea and a warm blanket. A chorus of soft snores and breathing sounded from the portraits on the walls and the fire was still crackling lowly in the hearth, quiet crackling embers that were not so wild as the flames but threw off more heat. She looked up at him with a liquid and serious expression before holding out the blanket to him. He took it with a quick half smile and a quiet thank you, declining her offer of tea before going to his desk and slumping in the chair, leaning over the desk being careful of the dictoquill that was still furiously writing away- the portraits or Beccos must have had more to add in his absence from the room - and burying his head in his forearms with an exhausted groan. 


	6. Castle Stretches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the ghosts hold council, the statues have a lot to say, and the solarium is visited.

After the four House ghosts and Peeves claimed Miss Granger as their own, recognizing her as the first Child of the Four Houses in seven hundred years, the fifteenth ever in existence, they retired to their specially designated meeting chamber- Ghost and House Elf only access unless in extreme cases of emergency. There was big news to discuss, Castle was unchained, they felt the warm shivering thrumming hum of Castle’s connection to them flare to life like a steady heartbeat, like the warmth of a banked hearth fire, like the tender embrace of a mother’s touch and they smiled. Their meeting chamber was warm and smelled strongly of cinnamon and clove, the scent so heavy in the air that any breathing creature would be choking in mere moments, but it was pleasant to ghostly senses. A sweet refrain after so long without the simple pleasure of sensation that they could sense everything so much more easily now that Castle was awake.

The Baron settled facing the room from the coolest, darkest corner under the Slytherin banner while the Friar and Nick hovered close to the cheery fire as the Gray Lady stopped still and attentive in the corner farthest from the Baron, they acknowledged each other with the customary grazing glance. The Friar let out a loud and joyous bubbling chuckle and Nick clapped him on the back. Peeves was not in attendance but then again Peeves had never cared for meetings of any kind unless they were with his chosen and favored mischief makers. Peeves detested council.

Some of the other ghosts began filtering in by in twos and threes having heard the gentle vibrations of a summons for a ghost’s council thrum through Castle’s walls, quietly respectful and attentive, moving about to chatter excitedly with their peers marveled and excited at their regained freedom and sensation like taking a breath of icy mountain air it filled them full of vigor and hope.

The House Elves popped in and out quickly placing highly fragrant crocks of food and drink over specially designed warmers on the tables chittering that they were glad they did not have to allow the niceties to spoil so that the ghosts could taste it any longer as the ghosts congregated at the table to inhale the fragrant plumes of steam. The food would happily not go to waste now that they were unbound, after the meeting had adjourned the House Elves would dine on the tepid food left over.

 Cuthbert Binns shambled in slightly later than his compatriots, frazzled and sputtering, immediately making a beeline for the Grey Lady in the corner.

“We have much to discuss my dear Helena; dear, dear Grey Lady. So much to discuss after we adjourn council. Castle woke me from a fitful nap. There are many things to go over that must be done for our students, Castle’s reopened access to the First Library for one…”

The rest of their conversation was drowned out by the four carolers belting out a rousing chorus of “ _Death and the Lady_ ” amid many cheers, the Baron sniffed and did not join in but a smile tugged at his lips. Castle fair purred with delight at the developments unfolding, but underneath the jubilation there was a thin thread of tremulous anxiety. Castle did not want to be chained again and the living wizards and witches were known to be flighty at best about overt displays of foreign magic - whether or not they were the ones who set it in motion. Attuned to Castle as he was, this anxiety was loud as a thunderclap to his senses, heightened by Castle’s awakening. Much as he wished he could ease and abate it for Castle, he could only share it, could only ease his back into the shivering stonework and watch the others celebrate.      

“Free! We’re free! Welcome and a thousand times welcome home Great Lady!” The Friar chortled, Nick joined in the exuberant cheering taken up by the rest of the assembled company while the Baron was quietly serious and the Lady whispered privately to Castle so it was hard for the other ghosts to hear her over their well-wishing, the warm undulating waves of yellow and soft golden and pearlescent light told them all however that whatever message it was, was very well received.

The Baron opened the meeting with a loud, raspy cough. Silence fell as the assembled company turned to face his corner under the banner of Salazar Slytherin.

“Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s ghost council. Welcome back, Castle!” he said, a deafening howling cheer went up as Castle chimed and trilled and then settled again, expectant.  

“First order of business tonight is the Child of Four Houses, unanimously accepted and acknowledged, our _Sanctus Moenia_ Miss Hermione Granger. I am sure all of us will need to take some time getting used to our restored freedoms once again, thankful we are to Headmaster Snape for invoking the **_Sanctuarium Saecula_** long may he serve here. But after we have all shaken off our bindings and explored our Great Lady Hogwarts stem to stern to see what’s come about it will be important to take both Miss Granger and the Headmaster aside and let them know all that they need to know, altered routes, passageways, House Secrets.” There was a quiet whistling murmur of agreement. Nick chimed in next.

“We should not allow the Houses to become so segregated again, as they were under the Chessmaster’s reign if we can do anything to prevent it. I hope you will all agree. Friendly competition is one thing but the stiff and painful backstabbing, secrets, awful duels to death and injury must be stopped. I am all for adventure but we need not foster such cruel, unsportsmanlike behavior ever again.” Here Castle rumbled and clashed, the whole room shaking with the thunderous sounds of emphatic agreement as the walls blared bright white.

“Thank you Great Lady, also, I feel that the dissolving and rending of the Inter-House Common Areas was a grave mistake. Castle, can anything be done?” a softer flurry of chimes that mimicked the trill of a songbird and a dappling of sky blue lights was a solid, enthusiastic response.

“The dueling rooms, mazes, climbing walls, swimming pools, and bouncing platforms as well as the obstacle courses are reappearing, and I believe Castle will bring back the Hall of Statues for the student’s use. There will need to be a rotation of our numbers to oversee and referee those places so that our students do not get into too much trouble. The House Elves will have to appoint an apparator to those locations in case of an accident or an emergency. Any volunteers for oversight rotation?” there was a chorus of “aye!” from several of the assembly.

The Fat Friar continued the discussion once the clamber of noise had died down.

“The House Elves are unchained, but not yet as freely as we are, there were extra layers of command assigned to them. We must be on the lookout for trouble they may not be able to reach nor Castle dispel that might require assistance from some of the professors: revenants, boggarts, Dark spells, curses, and such like. Be aware, we shall need several ghosts to search out thoroughly all of the usual trouble spots in the dungeons. I would that we request at least a hundred portraits be moved into the lower levels of the dungeons- the students will wish to explore them at some point and there are several wonderful hiding places among the passageways of the lower levels.

    “The food stores are not yet able to support a full student body, several of the larder rooms were partially destroyed in the fighting and the House Elves are not yet ready to report the loss to the appropriate Wizards and Witches on the grounds, does someone from this fine company wish to run messages between our Elves and the living members of our number?”

There was quiet scattered conversation among the assembly before a group of the Headless Hunters volunteered to search out the dungeons and one of the carolers agreed to pass messages between the kitchens and the Heads of Houses if the Friar himself was unavailable.

Rosemary Mender, a matron who worked closely with Poppy Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing cleared her throat and rose slightly higher in the air than the rest of the assembly.

“The stores of medicinal herbs as well as our other potions ingredients and general stock have been sadly depleted by at least two years’ worth if not more. Horace Slughorn lives up to his name, alas, selfish slobbering glory-monger. Those of us able to leave Castle’s walls and able to venture into the Forest should be on the lookout for those plants that will not grow in our gardens and greenhouses. Castle, would you be so kind as to unearth our infirmary gardens and perhaps nudge Pomona Sprout in their direction, I am certain that not all of the seeds have died and we will need her expertise to revive everything to the former glory.” 

The meeting went on for an hour more, there were many issues, triumphs, and grievances to discuss from the last seventy or so years. The council was almost at its close when the Grey Lady noticed that one of their company was absent and had been from the beginning.

The Lady gasped suddenly, shooting straight into the air almost to the ceiling of the meeting hall catching every ghosts’ attention.

“Myrtle. Myrtle the poor dear, she doesn’t know what this freedom is like. She’s never been with Castle unchained, she doesn’t know she can leave the cursed sewer pipes!” Castle rumbled and churned, the atmosphere in the room darkening a bit to a charcoal color for a moment before it brightened again. Castle had been trying to get Myrtle to leave the sewers and she wouldn’t come out.

Sir Nicholas straightened a bit as loud, angry chatter broke out among everyone.

“Enough!” he barked after a few moments.

“We cannot all go through the sewers to chase her out. She has been solitary all this time, what will it do to have all of the assembly crowding in on her space? One of our number at a time. Lady, you might wish to attempt speaking with Myrtle first.” He said more calmly when everyone was quiet again. The Lady nodded at him and then turned to the Baron’s corner though she did not look at him.

The Baron cleared his throat loudly and rose so that the top of his head was aligned with the bottom of the Slytherin Crest.

“Right, there is much still to discuss, but I believe we have made progress tonight. We have our tasks and our duties to attend to, we will reconvene seven days hence unless Castle calls us sooner. Council is dismissed.”  

Binns snagged the Lady’s attention before she could head off in the direction of Myrtle’s favorite lavatory, wishing to go over the inventory from the First Library, but Helena Ravenclaw was not going to forget the poor, sad ghost, she caught Nicholas’s eye and nodded over Binns’ shoulder as he floated by, the wink she received made her smile. All was not well, not yet, but now that Castle was free, it was going to get there as fast as they could manage it. They were very motivated and driven to mend what had been damaged during the last century under Dippet and the chessmaster, if there was a way it would be found. She turned her attention fully back to Professor Binns as he began waving a hand in emphatic expression, she nodded at him with a final small smile for Nick as he disappeared through the wall.       

~~**~~

Hermione took a look around the solarium the ghosts had brought her to, it was beautifully maintained and grand, airy, light and open, the windows were high sweeping arched birds in flight and framed by gauzy sheers in an opulent pearlescent cream tinged with lavender and warm orange like the undersides of wispy clouds at dawn. The drapes were a pale gold that framed the room beautifully and the floor was carpeted in a majestic royal blue rug dyed in a subtle pattern that evoked feathers or waves and bordered in a dark, rich gold woven pattern which anchored the room. Hermione was amused to see the four house symbols worked into the golden edge pattern at the corners of the room, the Slytherin snake and Ravenclaw eagle bracketed the bookshelves while the Gryffindor lion and Hufflepuff badger framed the sweeping bank of windows.

Soft music was playing in the background from somewhere, ethereal notes of harp and piano and cello twined and breezed through the room. Hermione felt a strange sort of melting sensation as tension she wasn’t even aware she’d been carrying melted from her shoulders and thee muscles in her back relaxed. She took an involuntary deep breath, letting it out in a sigh as she turned fully toward the windows to peer into the world beyond.

The view from those grand sweeping expanses of glass showed her a sight she was not expecting in the least because instead of looking out over the lake, or perhaps the mountains beyond she was staring out over a summer glade with tall, wide trees of several types that she could not identify, as she watched a herd of small red brown deer bounded across the grassy expanse in front of the window dappled in golden green light. Small darting red birds flitted back and forth between the tall sweeping branches being painted in shadow and light as they moved. Hermione could make out a tumble of smooth gray and reddish brown stones that a medium sized furred thing was foraging under and she notices the barest silvery glint of that water was just peeking through the leaves.

“The beauty of Castle’s heart, Daughter of Four Houses. Welcome to the Ward’s Solarium, if you wish to see another vista through these windows you need only ask. The books available to you are of the First Library and you may request any tome that Castle houses within certain limits, even for adults Castle will allow nothing from the restricted sections to be brought here. Nothing Dark will touch this room, it is protected and defended by the bulk of the Castle’s power and the wards and enchantments are vast and strong. Be at ease Hermione Granger.” The Fat Friar said, floating up behind her and placing a bracing hand upon her shoulder, she shivered reflexively at the sensation but was shocked at the feeling, for his had was not nearly as insubstantial nor as chilling as she would have thought.

“Now, Fredie has set out a lovely tea tray for you to partake of if you are hungry, the documents Castle can show you will astound you if you wish to read or if you wish to view say, the night sky over the Pacific Ocean, or late dusk on the Sahara you may. This room works much like the Room of Requirement does, but unlike that noble room, only Hogwarts’s wards may ether here.” The Grey Lady chimed in. The Lady was settled at the end of one of the seafoam colored settee’s closer to the bookshelves, her attention seemed to be split for she was speaking to Hermione but she was looking at the spry little house elf standing by the low table set in the middle of the grouping of furniture. Low dark side tables bracketed the lighter furniture, one was topped with a brass lamp styled like an ornate Fabergé egg.       

Hermione beamed and settled near the Gray Lady, reaching for a delicious looking sandwich from the silver tray. The solarium was peaceful, a soothing oasis in the middle of this frantic, exhausting and overwhelming period in her life that was at once frustrating and disheartening as well as being more magical than she’d ever expected.

“It is nice to call Hogwarts home.” She said softly, dusting her hands over the tray to rid them of crumbs before she moved to those irresistible mahogany shelves.

“As it is wonderful to call you Ours, Hermoine Granger.” Sir Nicholas replied softly with a beaming smile. Watching her get lost in choosing books to read as Fredie poured a fragrant, steaming cup of tea for her to enjoy.

~~**~~

Bucephalus’s statue snorted, eyes rolling and head tossing as he stamped on his pedestal, majestic horn of burnished silver and gold leaf flashing as his mane rippled. He cried a war challenge to the witch who would dare call the fine stonework expressions of the WE that was Castle “bloody statues” to dare suggest that they would need enchantments and charms to force the hands and feet and hooves and paws and wings of Castle’s might to move! Never again on the word of the Headmaster, never again! He would show her the folly of her words! All of the four legged, flying, slithering, scaled and furred statues free to move about heard the ringing fury of his challenge, he would show that woman the error of her misunderstanding.

A stampede of movement began from every corner of Castle’s wings, dragons carved in both Eastern and Western traditions took flight along with parliaments of great stone owls and convocations of the Ravenclaw eagles and a dozen of Hugin’s likenesses. Stone paws swished along the floor accompanied by the ringing clacking strike of hooves as lions and horses and unicorns raced to meet the charge. Within minutes a host of statues in a range of sizes from the small pot-bellied pig stationed by the kitchens to carved elephants, hyenas, and bears, to both of the near full sized dragons that guarded the staircases to the Eastern watchtower were gathered in a menagerie around Bucephalus. He pawed the ground and raced through them, they parted for him. Huge stone hooves ringing on the floor, Buchephalus snorted indignantly as he charged towards an unsuspecting Filius and Rolanda excitedly discussing the merits of certain spells over others in the hallway outside the doors to the grand hall.

The roaring battle bugle and furious hoof beats bearing down on the pair from down the hallway startled them- Filius actually jumped into the air as Bucephalus rounded the corner. Rolanda shrieked and backed up a step, wand raised to the defense. Bucephalus was much too fast for her though and used the advantage of the reach of his carved horn to bat the wand out of Madame Hootch’s grasp before he scooped her up onto his back with a graceful, rolling toss of his powerful neck on the return swing. It was a testament to her grace and agility in the air that Rolanda kept her wits about her and set herself to land gracefully if a little uncomfortably astride his broad marble back and not like a bouncing sack of potatoes. His body was surprisingly warm and more supple than she had expected for a carved work of stone though certainly not as forgiving as a flesh and blood equine would have been. Rolanda was certain she was going to be somewhat bruised tomorrow her hip bones were probably going to be complaining, but it was a sight more comfortable on this charging steed than it was on a poorly spelled broom, so she settled in for the ride.

 Poor Filius lost the battle with gravity and wind resistance and was bowled over, he was quickly surrounded by the tide of other statues that had followed the valiant carved unicorn in his quest to be noticed. His glasses somehow stayed on his face in the tumble though they were haphazardly hanging from one ear, saved by the folds of his robes as he fell. His wand flew from a hidden inner pocket in his sleeve and the faint wooden clatter was swallowed by the host of other noises- the portraits were yelling and laughing- or screeching in response to the commotion. A Komodo dragon statue flicked its tongue and then ducked its rounded arrow head underneath the floundering wizard and carried him along with the procession following behind the bright horned unicorn general at their head. One of the stone owls swooped close to the floor and scooped both Professors’ wands into its talons to save them from being trampled under hoof and foot and claw and paw with a shriek that was muffled and lost in the mayhem and cacophony of the statues exodus from Hogwarts.

Castle may have some anxiety still, and with good reason; but to Bucephalus and the other creature statues the promise of remaining unchained was law. They were free to express their displeasure at being slighted, insulted, and overlooked- if they wished to make a grand entrance who was Castle to deny them free reign after such a long and frustrating hibernation? Bucephalus charged down the hallway, triumphant, blowing and snorting and champing in what was a very passable attempt at equine disgusted muttering and carried his prize out the grand entryway and onto the green expanse of the front grounds. He jumped the staircase in a mighty bounding hurdle and landed four foot in the grass still vocalizing to himself as he bounced a bit in a springy half rear which upset but did not unseat Rolanda Hootch.

“What manner of charms and devilry is this Filius‽” Rolanda cried as she spotted the wizard bundled along on the back of his scaled mount top over teakettle. He slid to the ground in a graceless breathless ball of anxiety and robes and took a moment to right himself and settle his glasses back properly on the bridge of his nose before sniffing and turning to her.

“This is Castle’s statuary come to life under their own power as Beccos and Ostiarius have done, how foolish of me to believe that they were the only two capable of such a feat. I believe the statue that you are currently riding on is Bucephalus the unicorn of both Muggle and Wizarding fame although of course the Muggles think him only a grand and wonderful stallion with a white star upon his forehead….” Filius trailed off as the ghost of Professor Binns appeared on the lawn, fretting and in a tizzy as he tutted and fizzed around.

“Bucephalus! I know you’re a battle hardened general, but the fanfare was really quite uncalled for, I assure you they meant no slight…” he was interrupted by an angry snort, Bucephalus’s ears laid flat against his skull as he thrust his neck forward and pawed at the ground.

“No, We’ve only been awake for a few weeks my good sir! How is anybody supposed to know the measure of Our power unchained in that time? We can’t expect them to remember that Castle sees and hears and knows when Castle has been asleep for so long.” Here an indignant neigh accompanied by a toss of his mane came from the stallion, Binns sighed.

“Will you at least let the good lady down from your back? I’m sure we can clear up this misunderstanding, whatever happened I’m positive that Madame Hootch did not mean to insult your noble and magnificent place in Our walls nor did she mean to slight any of Our proud company, is that not correct?” Professor Binns continued, inclining his head and flapping his hands toward Rolanda as he bobbed in the air a bit ahead of Bucephalus. She inclined her head slightly toward the agitated ghost and spoke to both Binns and Bucephalus.

“Indeed, I meant no offense. Forgive me Bucephalus.” Madame Hootch intoned formally, Rolanda was an intelligent witch and she realized that her abrupt manner of speaking sometimes caused problems, but this was the first time her speech had caused problems with the Castle directly, it didn’t sit well with her that offending a building was even a possibility.

“There. Please let her down if you would Bucephalus, gently.” The unicorn snorted and pawed at the ground again, fidgeting slightly in indecision before he sighed and acquiesced. He bent one foreleg toward the ground bowing his huge neck and head so that his horn crossed under his foreleg, this allowed the witch to slide forward over his withers along the side of his neck and down his extended leg gracefully to the ground as easily as if she was merely seated on a park bench.

“Thank you, now, what caused the issue my good sir?” Binns continued as Rolanda straightened herself back out, shaking her robes into a neat and artful array, settling her short hair with a decisive flick of her head. Bucephalus proceeded to converse with Binns through a series of soft equine vocalizations and subtle body language. Bins fluttered and nodded, making sounds of assent and motioning with his hands every so often.

“I see. Well, that is easily fixed, I know without having to discuss it with Madame Hootch that it was entirely unintentional.” A rear and fierce neigh sounded to cut Binns off. He tutted, flapped his hands and bobbed backwards a few feet even though Bucephalus’s hooves would have gone straight through him.

“My good sir! Castle has been chained for how many years? Of course the staff would take for fact that the statues within Hogwarts are all perfectly stationary with certain exceptions! They’ve never seen anything different! Now. Kindly allow me to converse with Rolanda here and explain.” Binns blustered with a sharp if ineffective tap on the Stallion’s nose with a filmy hand. Bucephalus urprisingly ducked his head and whickered. Binns nodded and turned to Rolanda.

“Now, Madame Hootch. As you are surely now more than aware, Castle’s statues are capable of quite impressive movement. Castle is alive, We are part of Castle and Castle is part of Us, therefore We are quite able to assist you in many wonderous ways. It is quite offensive then, to refer to any part of Our being as ‘bloody statues’ unless of course, an individual does something to deserve it. I apologize for Bucephalus’s rude behavior, he is a war hero and a general and a tactician and does not enjoy being insulted or slighted. Please forgive his rashness, if you need aid in the future, feel free to ask, Castle loves to be helpful where Castle can.” Binns said all of this in a flighty, flittering rush whizzing between all of the assembled stone work. He caught sight of the owl that still had the Professor’s wands.

“You there! Give those back now if you would! If that is all I have much to brush up on before classes resume, History is always being written. Fare Well!” With that, Binns promptly disappeared leaving two slightly shell shocked Professors standing in the midst of an assembly of statues intent on them. The owl holding their wands hooted softly, swooped low overhead and dropped them gently so that they were easily caught. Rolanda stared hard at a still disheveled Filius and snorted.

“Well, this certainly is not going to be dull.” She remarked, looking around the assembled carvings. She turned to face the unicorn, he stood about twenty five hands at the shoulder having been carved slightly taller and broader in commemoration than his living height of about eighteen hands high. She bowed slightly to him and spoke.

“I’m sorry for offending you and the rest of Castle’s statues, I truly didn’t mean it. Would you be willing to hear the plan we are devising to assist the students returning for their first year after the Battle?” Bucephalus snorted, tossing his head and coming up beside her to lower his chin over her shoulder, leaning the side of his face against Rolanda’s, whickering as he did so. Rolanda took that as a very emphatic yes. When he backed up and looked at her, relaxed and attentive, ears forward and head up, she clapped her hands and patted the side of his massive neck.

“Excellent, if you would Filius?” With that, an impromptu planning session began on the front lawn, two Professors and a parade of magical and non-magical creature statues working together as was always intended. Castle sighed, settled and chimed, glowing briefly with a soft gray-blue flare.

~~**~~

Castle flared in roiling gray greens and storm cloud blues with a rumble of ominous noise in front of Headmaster Severus Tobias Snape and Harry Potter as the doors to the Room of Requirement appeared slowly in a shimmering faint mirage and then solidified. The lintels of the arch were carved slightly differently and a carving of Targes the griffin was set at the peak, he clicked his beak wildly for a moment and let out a squawk before leaning out and staring Snape straight in the eye.

“The thing you carry is dark. Dark and twisted, twisted and deranged and mad. Use caution Headmaster. Castle is uneasy.” Targes sank flat back into his carving before the whole lintel shimmered and changed again, becoming plain and sturdy once more as the doors swung open in invitation with a sharp chime.  


	7. Castle's Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castle receives an unexpected visitor.

A warm, ringing chime echoed out over the Great Hall as the last piece of ruined stonework finally fell into place. Castle practically purred in satisfaction. There were still dark and twisted eddies of energy coming from the Room of Requirement where the vile thing that Headmaster had locked there sat fuming on a stone pedestal in the emptied room, the whole area having been thoroughly cleansed by Fiendfyre. Castle wanted nothing to do with it, it was wrong and twisted and mad, but Castle would contain it for Headmaster, firm and true as he was, he would do all he could to destroy it. Castle knew and so Castle bore it exposed and out in the open, accessible to fragile human witches and wizards though the first instinct was to bury it in the Unmentioned Vault along with all of the other dangerous and dastardly items that humans had no business even thinking of let alone creating.

~~**~~

Lavinia took a deep breath as she quietly apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade village. It was a quiet weekday midmorning, there were very few about to see her passing through the village center, she drew up short for a moment just aside the threshold of the Hogs Head before gathering herself and stepping inside. The bell jangled quietly as she entered, the main room was deserted and Lavinia sighed with relief at the fact as she waited for Aberforth to come from the back room. The brisk, matter of fact tramps of his boots was somehow comforting and Lavinia found herself moving further into the room, coming to stand about three quarters of the way between the bar and the door just as Aberforth appeared in the entry that lead to the storerooms. He was wiping his hands on a worn, gray cloth and he flicked it over his shoulder as he looked her over.

“Good morning. What can I do for you?” He asked after a moment.

“Answer me a few questions over a good strong cup of tea if you don’t mind, I’ve been living abroad for a few years and I heard a rumor. A rumor I had to come and investigate myself. I….” She sighed, removed her hat, hung it on a peg in the wall and moved to sit at the bar, sitting and casting her eyes back to him before continuing.

“I haven’t been back here since my school days. I had to come and see for myself. I had heard that Headmaster Dumbledore was no longer with us, if that’s true…if that’s true I had to see what’s changed. It’s time. I think it’s finally time.” The expression on Aberforth Dumbledore’s face only became more gruff and forbidding as he huffed out a grunt and faced her more squarely.

“We might do that, or we might not. I have some questions for you now.” He said in that abrupt, acerbic way of his.

 She nodded and smiled a little.

“Of course.”

~~**~~

Nearly an hour later, both heavier and lighter than when she arrived, but a great deal calmer, Lavinia Eastbridge exited Aberforth’s establishment after thanking him warmly for his time and paying him as handsomely as he would allow. Her hat was adjusted at a much jauntier angle than when she arrived, tilted a bit haphazardly across her brows while still shading her eyes from the bright midmorning sun. She was determined as she made her way through the village center and down the road towards Hogwarts Castle.

A shiver of awareness came from the edges of Castle’s grounds, a much stronger, clearer ring that was different than the delicate hum from earlier through the direct link to Hogsmeade from Ariana’s portrait tunnel. A cool shiver of human magic, the touch and flavor of which Castle would never ever forget- a swirl of violets and lilacs and warm chai tea. Moving towards Castle’s main grounds on the road from Hogsmeade.

Lavinia Eastbridge. Poor dear Hufflepuff, one wrongly treated and wrongly shunned and wrongly wounded. She was coming back, she was right now walking the road from the village. A booming clang sounded in the dungeons as a wracking tremor like an earthquake gripped the Castle from the topmost spires to the depths of the caverns. Bucephalus roared a mighty challenge and burst from his pedestal at a breaking speed charging down the corridors and out onto the lawn, uncaring and unheeding of the professors who were aware and concerned by his hasty passage, his hooves rang on the cobbles and gravel as he galloped full out to reach the young woman so mistreated those many years ago. He was a General and whether he charged toward good or ill, he would go and meet her, a valiant and brave warrior in a battle that could have been wholly prevented, a battle she never should have had to fight.

He screamed a ringing greeting to the woman walking while he was still a few hundred meters out, seeing that shivering signature that was branded into the very stones, one that could not yet fade into the gentle current of magic that Castle was steeped in, though it was much more settled and less nervous now. Instead her magic was associated with that discordant ringing spire of notes, a sound of pain and anguish and fear, Castle would know her anywhere as Castle would know her tormenters should they ever venture forth from the four winds.

She stilled in the middle of the path as Bucephalus slowed his pace, coming to stand only a few meters away and turning so he was not in a directly challenging pose. She was not here for harm or mischief, no, not at all. Her golden hair was mostly covered by a straw hat ringed in cornflowers and she wore very plain robes. A small, soft smile came to her face the moment that she spotted Bucephalus running down the path to meet her. When he stopped a fair distance away, attentive and alert as he looked at her, she laughed a little and beckoned him closer. He whickered and trotted straight up to her. She looked him over calmly, taking in the color of his fine marble carvings, the burnished silver and gold of his horn, his proud and direct gaze. It was a direct contrast to the way the rest of the witches and wizards in the village were reacting, not a few wands raised in shaky defense.

“You’ve come from the Castle, haven’t you? Fine statue, this doesn’t surprise me. I remember all those years ago, I remember the armor coming to… save me.” Her eyes grew clouded and rimmed red and she trembled a little as she hesitantly raised a hand to touch, stopping a hair’s breadth away from Bucephalus’s strong neck. He snorted out a forceful breath and leaned into her hand. She started at the warmth and the very slight give that his awakened surface had, and then she smiled very softly, pressing her hand more firmly against him.

Bucephalus shifted to allow the young witch greater access to his large frame, turning in to her so that she was shielded from any potentially prying eyes as best he could while she bowed her head and took a moment to collect herself. She took a few slow, deep breaths in through her nose and let them out before she raised her head. Glancing around she lowered her voice as she spoke to him, keeping her face tucked close to his side in shame or embarrassment or some other silly human emotion.

“Not here, no, we must not linger here on the open road. I was just speaking with Aberforth and he informs me that what I’d heard was true, I had to come, I had to. Now that I’m here I have to see. Please, will you take me up to the Castle?”  Bucephalus snorted again, tossing his head gently as he bowed. He moved carefully and slowly, because though her words were brave he could easily read the fine tremors and trembles and twitches that belied her nerves and her anxiety and her fear. He took care to move as quickly as he could without spooking her. When his body was lowered enough for her to climb aboard his broad back, she scrambled up his leg, her body leaning over his neck in a practiced hunter’s seat. She gripped tightly to the carved strands of his mane that flowed free when he shifted and he leapt away, cantering briskly back toward the Castle that was singing through his entire frame in welcome and anxiety and fearful hope.

The moment they were on Castle’s proper grounds, a volley of soft popping sounds began as house elf after house elf surrounded the unicorn statue and the witch he bore.

“Miss Lavinia, miss Lavinia!” They called softly, some clapping their hands and dancing about, others no less glad to see her but hanging back, looking at her with joyful, wary eyes swimming with unshed tears. Those who had tried so hard to keep her safe and could not for the word of the chessmaster had been law. They were so glad to see her, for she had been kind, been friendly, been caring. Indeed, there was a fairly great number of them who had called her friend, and every one of the elves knew of her for she was a very compassionate and gentle witch.

Lavinia slid carefully from the statue’s back, aided by the careful shifting of his head, neck, and forelegs, and she was swept up in a joyful reunion with the house elves. They crowded around her looking at her with joy and delight, admiration, and some trepidation. They were aware of the part they had played in the events that had led to her assault. She shook her head at their reluctant greetings smiling through a few more tears as she dropped to her knees to put herself more on their level. She was quite a bit taller than she had been when she was a student, so she wasn’t the same height as them any longer, but neither was she towering over them. She sat back on her heels as she grinned at them, reaching out to brush gently at their hands and ears and noses as she had when she was a girl. They giggled a bit in return but still looked wary.

“Oh, don’t, none of you, don’t. It wasn’t your fault. You tried to protect me, you did, dear ones. Thank you, thank you all so much for your kindness and your courage, you have my thanks always. Come here, all of you. I missed you, where are you Tisha? Cheddar, Fredie, Tas? What of Grin and Ermie and all the rest, is little Yemie all grown up now? How are all of you? Come, don’t be so shy, I missed all of you so very much.” That broke the ice and soon she was ringed in a crowd of house elves all chattering and clambering to touch her and to see for themselves that she was well.

A bit of a commotion began at the Castle’s front doors, McGonagal’s trademark jade green robes and pointed hat easily seen as they started toward the congregation. Lavinia stiffened.

“Not yet, not yet. I don’t want to face them yet, would you take me somewhere?” she whispered frantically to the house elves as she saw the professors coming. They all crowded closer hiding her from the eyes of the assembled teaching staff as Bucephalus waded through the company to head them off.

Tisha waded through the crowd and put gentle hands on one shoulder as Grin came up on the other side and did the same.

“We go to the kitchens and get Miss Lavinia some tea, yes.” Tisha whispered softly, waiting for Lavinia’s small nod before they popped away. Bucephalus cantered neatly around the group of curious professors and back through the open doors to his pedestal with nary an ear twitch as explanation. The other assembled house elves dispersed as soon as the trio were gone; some on foot in all directions through the grounds and some apparating back into the Castle’s many rooms. The party disbanded quickly and efficiently in a practiced fashion to the concerned surprise and confusion of the staff.

The warmth and bustle and closeness of the kitchens calmed Lavinia more than the quiet open air of the grounds did. It was busy and had a mix of wonderful smells and the chatter of many voices all at once. Several more elves who had not gotten the news shrieked and ran over to her, patting at her knees and shoulders and stroking the hem of her robes. In short order the stains from the grass and dirt that she’d been kneeling in disappeared, and the ends of the straws that had begun poking out of her hat rewove themselves.

A plush armchair appeared just behind her as a small round tea table covered in a snow white lace tablecloth was maneuvered into positon in front of her. A silver tea service heavily laden with a bit of everything was set down in short order- there were sandwiches both savory and sweet, jam tarts and assorted biscuits, a bit of cold ham and some nice cheeses, and a small plate of leafy greens. The steam that issued from the spout of the teapot was fragrant and rich and soothing. With a sigh, Lavinia settled back into the chair and looked over her choices and then around the room at all of the house elves.

“Thank you all, for all you did then and for now. Please, don’t let anybody know I’m here yet if you can help it, I’m not ready, truly, I’m not I…” she broke off and took a bracing sip of her tea as she looked around at the elves who had quieted as she spoke, attuned to her needs and her mood and her anxieties.

“I needed to see. I heard, I heard that he was dead, I heard he was dead now. I just, I needed to come and to see, for myself you understand. I needed to see what this place was like without him here, without THEM here… and you all were so kind to me, dear, dear elves." She murmured to the assembled House Elves, looking in wonder at the kind souls who had tried, tried so hard to help her, to aid her all those years ago. There were tears falling freely down her pale cheeks now, lovely still, though she was older and touched by grief and pain and time. The teacup rattled as her hand began to tremble and so she set it down upon the silver tray as she looked about in wonder and trepidation. Another deep breath lifted her shoulders.

"I am glad to see that so much is different. Please, would you, would one of you take me to...where it happened? I need to see. I need to see it now." She pushed the table away slightly in agitation as the emotions she’d been desperately trying to suppress came up in a flood and a soft wailing sob broke free from her chest. Cheddar, dear Cheddar came quickly to her side with a soft hankie and pressed it into her hands as she deftly whisked the suddenly offensive tea tray out of sight.

“Miss Lavinia doesn’t need to go to that awful place if it makes her so sad.” Cheddar whispered as she came close once again and leaned her body against Lavinia’s knees, pressing her face to them as her slim arms came up to circle around the backs of Lavinia’s calves. Lavinia laughed quietly and stroked Cheddar’s ears softly with still trembling fingers.

  “Oh, but I do. It is a sad place where an awful, awful thing was done. But I am not a girl any longer and the one who allowed it to happen is no longer here. He’s dead and gone, and he cannot hurt me any longer. The ones who decided to wound me with their actions aren’t here either, they cannot trap me again, harm me a second time. I must face what was done. I still have such nightmares about it, the horror and the terror and the pain, I do. I need to see it, to prove that I am not that young girl stuck in that place and that time, and to grieve for all that I lost that night. I need to see it. Please?”

Cheddar trembled and hugged her legs tightly for a few more moments before she gave one last mighty squeeze and pulled away. The walls flared with soft green lights and a chorus of fairy chimes sounded all around them. Castle applauded the strength of this witch, glad to see that the light of her hope and good character had not been dimmed by the horrific events that had taken place. 

“Cheddar will take you Miss Lavinia. Castle has changed it.” The elf said, holding her slender hand out for the witch to take, gripping Lavinia’s tightly between her own she looked up into the woman’s face.

“Is Miss sure?” She whispered once again, eyes swimming with sorrow as her large, catlike eyes stared into Lavinia’s golden green ones.

“I’m sure.” Was the shaking reply. With that, there was another pop and the kitchen was clear of the brave Hufflepuff woman whose attack had been the start of a dark and angry era within Castle’s walls. It was with quiet voices and solemn words that the house elves cleared away all evidence of her presence, fifteen minutes later Filius Flitwick came into the room asking about the commotion on the lawn, they were all quite occupied with very important tasks and all they would say was that they were taking care of it with Castle and Master Flitwick shouldn’t worry.

In the dungeons, a soft pipping sound was the only indication of the momentous event taking place. Cheddar and Lavinia appeared in the middle of the corridor. In stark contrast to the last time she had been there, it was well lit, dry and warm, and smelled pleasantly like an early spring day on a grassy hill. There were portraits hung along the wall now, smiling or solemn as they looked back at her in respectful silence. The suits of armor all turned to face her, standing in parade rest lining the long stretch of empty hallway in both directions. Even so it made her stop short and freeze, the memories of that dreadful evening coming back to her once again. She sank to the floor and the tears she’d been keeping in check so bravely sprang out onto her cheeks in a torrent.

“Thank you, thank you for trying so hard to defend me, I saw you all struggling to move, struggling until you finally managed it, oh thank you!” she cried out in between shuddering sobs. The statues began to step down from their stands, the original suits from that terrible night once again forming an honor guard around a grieving Lavinia Eastbridge as their comrades moved to each side of the corridor to form blockades at a respectful distance. They would allow her to express her grief in private until she expressly stated the desire for company, they nodded curtly to one another in agreement. Nothing would happen without her consent in this corridor, not today, not ever again.

They waited, alert and aware, listening to the brokenhearted weeping of the woman reliving her wounding in this place, silent and steadfast against a torrent of wordless grief. The only other sounds to be heard were the quiet murmurs of the portraits every now and again or Cheddar’s soft questions whenever the weeping paused. The elf was intent on Miss Lavinia, waiting for her to need a blanket, or for her to ask for someone. Presently the four House Ghosts drifted through the walls. They were silent and watchful, respecting Lavinia’s need for quiet, eyes filled with grief as they watched over her. The ghosts came to rest on the inside of the armor forming the blockades, floating so they were back to back with the suits of armor. The Grey Lady and the Friar on Lavinia’s left and the Bloody Baron and Sir Nicholas on her right, quiet witness to her grief and bulwark against anyone who would attempt magic upon the suits should they come across the unusual spectacle before Lavinia Eastbridge was ready.       

Nothing would disturb her here, not now, not in this time of wrenching remembrance as she mourned the loss of her innocence and her peace. Slowly like the turning of the tide, Castle felt the pull of the spire in the magic current begin to recede so that it wasn’t quite so painful, not so sharp. The corridor became a chapel in those long moments where Castle and Her company bore witness to the pain and suffering, the grief and mourning of this brave and bright Hufflepuff. A quiet atmosphere, a reverence, the solemn attendance and the presence of those around her settled around Lavinia like a warm weighty blanket. There was a peace and a cleansing that came with such a grief, to know that she was respected and that she was not alone as the vicious waves of emotion swamped her lent a sort of healing to all of the sobbing gasps she let out into the air.

There was power in the Castle recognizing that what had happened to her mattered, that her pain and her anguish mattered; that she, Lavinia Eastbridge former Hufflepuff mattered. This grief and mourning was intimate, sacred, needed- so very, very needed. Out from the depths of her being, across time and space and other experiences it moved through her like a living thing, and she let it come. There was nobody in the gathered assembly who would judge her for her anguish or her anger, she was free to express all of the terrible and horrible sentiments she had been holding inside of herself for so many long years. These witnesses would not force her to cover up or dismiss what was wrong, there was no need to sugar-coat or ignore any of the vile things she wished to say and so she spouted venom and rage and despair and heartache until her eyes were irritated and scratchy, her throat was sore, and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

When at last she lay gasping in a heap on the floor reduced to full body tremors, ragged breathing, and silence; Cheddar rose from her loose tailor’s seat on the floor, leaned in and laid a hand on Lavinia’s quivering shoulder holding out a clean, dry handkerchief with the other. Lavinia took it, not bothering to move out of her protective huddle and blew her nose. Cheddar patted her shoulder consolingly, humming a little in the back of her throat before she spoke very softly.

“Does Miss need anything? Food or drink, blankets? Cheddar will get for you what you need Miss.” A few moments went by before Lavinia managed to croak out

“Water, water please.” Cheddar nodded. She popped out and back again in less than fifteen seconds, worry and grief prominent on her pointed little face. She set the wooden tray with its pitcher and cup down near Lavinia and went back to leaning against the huddled witch. Cheddar made sure most of her body was pressed tightly against Lavinia’s back and shoulder so that Cheddar’s chin crested over the place here her arm joined her shoulder.

The Grey Lady spoke after about a minute of silence where Lavinia didn’t move. She floated a bit closer and pitched her voice low like the brush of air over an open bottle, a soft low humming sort of whistle.

“Would you like us to get someone for you dear? Do you need help holding your glass so you can drink something? How about a nice soft blanket? Or we can wait. We can wait as long as you like, dearest Lavinia. No one will bother you here. We will make sure of it.”

The gentle inquiries roused Lavinia from her quiet puddle on the floor. Despite the warmth in the air, she suddenly found that she was quite chilled, and the fine shuddering tremors still wracked at her body so that she felt more than a little like a leaf in a sudden summer storm. She sat up a little and nodded toward the water pitcher after trying to speak and realizing that her lips were essentially glued together. Cheddar hurried to pour half a glass and came near to hold it steady so that all Lavinia had to do was touch her lips to the rim to moisten them and then sip carefully of the wonderfully cool liquid.

When the half glass was gone and she felt more able to answer the House Ghost looking at her with brimming concern, she took a breath and shakily answered.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I needed that. I hope it wasn’t a terrible inconvenience for you all.”

“Oh, most certainly not!” Cried Sir Nicholas, floating forward to be in line with the Lady, “never think such a thing, it was an honor to stand by you in your time of need my dear, to do what we could not in the beginning. Please, tell us what you need.” He was so very earnest as he looked at her, indeed, they all were that she couldn’t help but believe them.

“A blanket wouldn’t go amiss either way.” Chimed in the Fat Friar quietly as he took in the scene. Cheddar nodded and once again popped away, returning with a thick, soft patchwork quilt that looked very warm and also slightly awkward in her tiny arms. She set it on the floor well away from the pitcher of water and looked to Lavinia immediately.

“How much do they know?” Lavinia asked, her exhausted brain moving sharply away from the grief still pushing at her, though more dully, like the gentle ripples in a pond after a rock has been tossed into it, and focusing on the fear of people discovering her cowardice and rude behavior. Everyone in the corridor with her exuded calm and peace in a way that no living human witch or wizard had managed in a very long time. She reached her arms toward the blanket silently as she asked the question and Cheddar obligingly placed it in her waiting arms. She wrapped it firmly around herself so that only her face showed, her hat had been abandoned long ago on the floor and Cheddar had unobtrusively moved it out of harm’s way.

“Very little. The House Elves informed Filius Flitwick that there was a matter to which Castle and the House Elves are attending. The staff is curious of course, but nobody has begun to think of asking a specific or direct enough question to out you. You are protected from prying eyes and ears here, from any seeking magics, from anyone coming upon you that you do not wish to be here. You are safe, and it is Castle, it is Us who should apologize most profusely to you, Lavinia Eastbridge for failing in Our duties to provide you with such protections from the beginning, protections you had every right to as a student of Hogwarts and as a witch and as a human being. We are very sorry for all that transpired within these walls that We were unable to prevent.” The Bloody Baron murmured softly, ferociously, so filled with utter conviction that Lavinia really had no chance to doubt him.

“I would like some more company now, I think, but I am unsure who to ask for. You’ve all been so kind to me, thank you for this, thank you, so much for this.” Lavinia murmured, clutching tightly to the blanket and to Cheddar as she looked around at her assembled guard, she had needed this, needed it desperately. For the first time in a long time the stone that sat over her heart had eased significantly; she felt lighter, worn out, wrung dry and drained. She was very glad of their company and Cheddar gave excellent cuddles but Cheddar was simply too small to provide all of the comfort that Lavinia needed in that moment. She opened the blanket a bit and gestured from Cheddar to her lap with a questioning look on her face, Cheddar went willingly with a small smile and a sound of agreement, curling into a warm soft weight across Lavinia’s knees like a cat.

One of the portraits bobbed its head and spoke softly “I’ll go get Pomona Sprout. Worry not, you are safe from discovery here.” The craggy woman with the jaunty, crooked red hat and shimmering jewel toned robes smiled at Lavinia with a nod before she moved quickly out of frame.

**~~**

Pomona was joining the other ladies of Hogwarts for tea in her new sitting room enjoying the bright and delicate and exotic plants that Castle had pulled from some of the most distant corners of Castle’s self. They gathered as often as they could just the ladies to giggle and speak of knitting projects and fine things, to moon over the young witches and wizards that caught their attentions, to discuss baking recipes and herbs, to generally just be women and have a good time. This was all the more necessary with all that had transpired within the last few years.

     For such a brightly dressed witch, the portrait figure managed to attract very little attention from the group as they sat around the table with their tea and light lunch spread. Rolanda was the first to notice her appearance out of the corner of her eye as she turned to speak with Minerva about a rising quidditch star from Norway who was incredibly good looking. The woman was waving subtly, obviously trying to get someone’s attention but wanting to be discreet. Rolanda tilted her chin a bit and raised an inquiring eyebrow in the portrait’s direction, a shake of the woman’s head along with the ceasing of the waving gesture indicated it wasn’t her who was required. Interesting. She tilted her head again this time in Minerva’s direction- another headshake. Another head tilt in Pomona’s direction- emphatic nodding and frantic waving.   

Rolanda gave a minute nod to the woman in the portrait. She reached over and laid a hand on Pomona’s shoulder with an engaging smile.

“Pomona, might I have a quick word?” she grinned and looked around at the rest of the table, giving Minerva a bit of a wink as she addressed them, “I apologize ladies, this will only take a moment.”  Pomona smiled up at her and rose with a murmured agreement, patting the hand on her shoulder as she did so.

As soon as they were out in the corridor, the portrait in the red hat scurried into view, robes swirling as she bumped into a low bit of shrubbery in the landscape she’d stopped in.

“My thanks Madame Hootch, Professor Sprout, your presence is required for a Hufflepuff House matter. Castle asks that you maintain discretion on this matter Madame Hootch if you please.” She continued after she received a nod from Rolanda, Castle knew Rolanda would keep her word. The portrait cleared her throat a bit.

 “Professor Sprout, Lavinia Eastbridge of Hufflepuff house is in the dungeons right now, at the site of her attack lo those many years ago. She requested we keep her presence quiet as she does not want a fuss, but she would like you to join her there if you may.” Pomona gasped and paled a bit with the news but quickly stammered out

“Of course, I shall go at once!” she squeezed Rolanda’s hand firmly for a moment and then turned to rush as quickly as she could to the distressed former Hufflepuff in the dungeons.

“I’ll be waiting Pomona, I’ll go make your excuses to the others.” Rolanda murmured to her retreating back, she got a quick

“Thank you Rolanda!” tossed over Pomona’s shoulder as she hurried away. Rolanda thanked the portrait for the message and returned to Sybil, Minerva, Poppy, Septima, Aurora, and Irma still laughing quietly around the table.

~~**~~

When Pomona got to the correct level of the dungeons, she was surprised to see the statues and the ghosts, they parted for her on her approach and closed ranks as she moved toward Lavinia who was sitting on the floor wrapped up in a quilt.

“Hello dear.” Pomona murmured as she approached slowly and cautiously, it was unwise in the extreme to startle someone so obviously grieving especially when that person owned a wand and knew how to use it. Lavinia’s head turned and a tentative, watery smile graced her lips for a moment.

“Hello Professor Sprout.” She replied tearfully, wiping at her eyes with a corner of the quilt as she spoke.

“What do you need of me?” Pomona asked her as she shifted to sit tailor fashion on the floor beside Lavinia.

“A hug.” Came the reply on a shuddering exhale. With a wordless sound of comfort, Pomona enfolded Lavinia in her arms pulling her flush against her side in a firm and reassuring embrace, swaying ever so gently for a moment as she got herself situated.

They stayed like that for a few quiet moments as Lavinia’s grief ebbed away into the heavy still calm of the after, that cleansed and quiet space of peace. Pomona stayed with her there murmuring every now and again until Lavina shifted to be able to see her face a bit better and sat up straighter.

“It is much different now, I am glad,” Was her first comment as she looked around the corridor at the ghosts and the portraits and the suits of armor. Pomona made a wordless agreeing noise and shifted with her so that she wouldn’t get a crick in her neck as they talked.

“I have a life now, I teach. An all witches academy in America, but of course news from this side of the pond does still travel quickly, and when I heard… well. Dean Shawdrake let me take some personal time. I had to see for myself, I had to know what was true and what was false, I hope you understand, I didn’t exactly mean to intrude on all that you are doing…”

“Let me just stop you there,” Pomona interrupted her with a stern look on her face, “let me just stop you right there. You have every right to be here, and you are not intruding. Clearly the Castle wished to take care of you dear, surely you see how much respect you have from the Castle? You are well aware you cannot intrude or impose anything on us if we do not even know you are here, and the Castle doesn’t tolerate trespassers lightly!” Pomona looked around to the ghosts.

“Pomona Sprout speaks true Lavinia Eastbridge. It has been an honor to aid you. There is no shame in grief, nor in wishing to grieve privately, nor in wishing to have company. It is not wrong to fall silent or to scream to the heavens. You have done nothing wrong.” The Fat Friar said softly as he drifted closer to the pair of witches and one hidden house elf.

It was a long while more before Lavinia stood clear eyed and tall among Castle’s witnesses in the dungeons. She smiled and thanked Pomona for the support that she showed and the bearing of witness to her pain. Each statue got recognized, each portrait, each ghost, and Cheddar concluded Lavinia’s visit with an extra cuddle about her knees. Lavinia grinned down at her and knelt to whisper something soft and private in her winged ear that made her quiver and whisper high, happy, affirmations back to the witch.

After Lavinia Eastbridge had apparated away, the assembly stood in quiet stillness for a few moments more before returning to their original stations, the statues to patrol their halls or to their stands, the ghosts filtered through the walls of the dungeon, Cheddar popped back to the kitchens. Pomona stood still, breathing loud and even in the resulting hush for just a moment longer before she turned to the eccentric portrait and asked after Rolanda’s whereabouts.

She hurried to meet Rolanda as soon as the portrait returned with an answer, and the resulting hush in the corridor was much more relaxed than it had been for a very long time. There was the very faintest of vibrations along the walls for a breath of time before Castle settled down once more, very much at ease and content.


	8. Castle Restores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castle holds many priceless and ancient treasures within her walls, some stolen from their rightful places. On the night of the Winter Solstice, Bucephalus returns one such artifact to its home in an effort to correct some of the wrongs done.

Firenze took in the scent of the winter blossoms dancing on the night breeze as he breathed deep, their woodsy sweet aroma refreshing him in the midnight air. He rose from his place of rest and contemplation to stand tall, face turned into the wind on the crest of a mossy hillock with a clear view of the night sky, filled with a sudden sense of purpose. Chiron, the Forefather, the mighty and wise Archer, bringer of truth, bestower of knowledge was bending low over the world this long night of Winter Solstice to kiss the earth. The edge of Chiron’s stalwart longbow swept low on the horizon seeming to brush the cairn of the fallen herd, and Firenze felt once again his mind become restless and unsettled.

It had been many a long year since the Horn of Blessing was in its rightful place deep in the ritual glen at the heart of the wood, and he knew that his cousins mourned its loss bitterly. He had failed to locate the relic of communion when he was teaching at the Castle during the time of unrest- there had been too many humans roaming about and asking questions of his movements for him to explore thoroughly, and the Castle had not yet been Restored. Tonight he felt an urging deep in his spirit, a raging longing stirred once again within him to fulfill the quest to return the horn of the Stallion of the First Herd of the forest to its rightful place, so that once again the unicorn Ancestors could be at peace and the rightful head stallion be named.

Too much had been stolen already, too much twisted and warped beyond recognition. How like humankind to be so forgetful, to lose the wisdom of the old ways, to scorn the marks of their beginning and think themselves the loftiest of all things. How like human kind to steal and rend and raze- and it had been a human to steal the horn. Every creature in the forest could attest to this- that the glen stank of human magic, reeked of arrogance and lust, churned with pride and with pain and with prejudice like acrid clinging smoke and yet the thief vanished from the forest before any creature could catch them. Firenze snorted at the bitter turning if his thoughts as he gazed up once again into Chiron’s face casting aside his turbulent twisting musings. He began a course of deep breathing steadying his heart and mind on the tide of air through his lungs. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and when he was once again calm and serene, feeling as though he was a calm pool on a still day, his path became clear and Firenze knew what action he needed to take. 

He moved off toward the cairn at a brisk canter a knowing burning bright behind his eyes that Chiron would grant him an answer to this painful unanswered question, that tonight was an auspicious moment, a time of renewal and alignment, of blessing and of healing. The forest was calm, a steady thrumming heartbeat of the usual nightly creatures and plants, the chorus of things both waking and sleeping swelling in joyous song which was each and every day more restful than the last as the blight and curses were cleared out and cleansed by time and patient tending. Headmaster Snape was good for this place, he had kept the promises made to the clans on the night of the dance for the herd under the cairn. He was respectful and quiet, he did not presume he was the holder of all knowledge, yes, he was good for this place- an instrument of change and of healing and of rebirth.

An echoing set of hooves rang in the distance as Firenze came up upon the gravesite pulling him out of his musing thoughts and the flashing chocolate and chestnut hide of the stallion Ambergris appeared as a flickering shadow between the trees headed toward the funeral mound. They closed in on the cairn from opposite sides, centaur and unicorn and each bowed to the other under the glow of the stars and the milky, silver shine of the reflected light in the frost and snow. They stilled at the edge of the mound with breath heaving in frosty bursts as they acknowledged one another.

“Ambergris, cousin, good Solstice.” Ambergris tossed his head, horn shining faintly in the light, blowing and champing a bit in greeting, but otherwise silent. Firenze nodded solemnly and both he and Ambergris turned their gazes skyward to Chiron.

“Ancient one, Archer of the Heavens, hear our plea. We come to you cousins of the hoof humbly asking for guidance as we have been drawn to this bier on this most auspicious day, for a sign of where the Horn of the Ancestors has gone, a sign that it may be retrieved and returned to its rightful place. Please grant our request.” Firenze intoned slowly and respectfully in a quiet voice rolling out into the stillness his words nearly visible as warm breath met frigid blackness of midnight air and steamed into an ethereal vapor highlighted by the starlight. Above them a comet seemed to shoot from Chiron’s great bow, fiery tail a blue white arrow that sped out over the roof of Hogwarts Castle. Ambergris whickered and lowered his head, Firenze held his fist over his heart and nodded up at Chiron before he too bowed his head with a solemn prayer of thanks.

Bucephalus shook out his mane, tossing his head and champing, he stepped down from his pedestal and turned toward the passage only Castle knew, marching in all his grandeur and glory, head held high and picking his feet up off the floor as he had done in his days as a living unicorn leading parade marches with Alexander the Great perched upon his back. In counterpoint to his usual exit from the stand his feet were mere marble whispers on the floor and he made no more noise than the occasional snort. This was not an affair for humans after all, he did not need to bugle his triumph nor challenge an opponent. He who would have answered for this crime was beyond the veil and beyond any reach for punishment.

The way opened before the mighty stallion when he reached the end of the hallway, a grand archway that could accommodate his height and girth, it closed silently behind him as though it had not been. He did not pause though the way was not lit, he had no need for light as he marched steadily, quietly, quickly onward down and down and down into the Tomb of the Forgotten Fallen with its floating lights and small silent mounds, up the steps and past the pool, through to the chamber with its mosaics and murals and fruit trees and herbs, and through to the back where another archway opened with a hissing sigh.

Onward, down the wide shallow steps that curved away from the part of Castle that humans knew and could explore down, down and down into the halls of forgotten secrets Bucephalus marched. At last he came to a large heavy arched doorway; two high, wide wooden doors so aged that they were black and pitted, their glossy surface hazily reflecting the light supplied by the brightly burning torches bracketing the lintels- strapped in iron and so heavy that not even he could open them. The very air settled with a crushing weight of ancient unseen power, this was a place untouched by human hands for a thousand years and even Bucephalus was stalled for a moment at the entrance to this place. He shook his head with a snort after a moment and whinnied sharply.

Two House Elves apparated with muted pops and bowed deeply three times- to him, to each other, and to the doors, clapping their hands each time. The doors were warded very strongly against many magics in so many layers that the wood and iron hummed and throbbed with the power it contained, and it took even the elves a few minutes to unseal them. At last they swung open and Bucephalus stepped inside the vault, turning unerringly down the left-hand aisle with a nod to the Chinese Dragon statue curled on the pillow at the front of the chamber clutching a pearl of wisdom – the guardian of secret knowledge.

The Horn was settled on a bolt of silk it was long, spiraled gold and silver with age ringing and emanating continuously with a resounding sound like the long sustained chime of a bass hand bell and still wickedly sharp. Bucephalus champed and brayed, slapping his front hooves on the stone floor of the chamber with a ringing clack. The silk surrounding the horn rose in the air, twining and twisting like a flowing vine around the horn until it was bundled neatly within the folds of the fabric before the ends formed a complex knot and flew to hover in front of Bucephalus. He tossed his head and hooked the bundle neatly with his horn so that it slung to rest along his neck and against his withers. Then He Snorted and charged toward the far end of the room opposite the main doors, hooves ringing and sparking with his speed.

He rocketed out through the underground network far below the chambers of the sleeping humans, twisting and turning down passages that promptly narrowed behind him as he raced, hooves clacking and skittering on wet and jagged stone. He emerged into the night air a pale beacon in the starlight snow with slush and icy ground flying in his wake as he galloped full tilt toward the cairn. This would end tonight. What was marred by human hands would be restored without their intervention, let Castle and Her Multitudes make light the work which needed doing for there was so much wrong that wanted mending and only so many human ears bent to hear and inclined to listen and their plates were full already. Bucephalus tossed his mane again and felt a boiling desire to bugle and brandish his horn about wildly now that he was charging full tilt across the grounds, horn shining like a burning brand under the moon, a streaking marble ghost among the hedges and trees as he made his way to the cairn. But that would doubtless wake someone and this occasion upon the Solstice was not a cause for alarm, so with the main of his battle hardened will, he clamped down upon the urge and pushed himself even faster over the last distance, head high and proud as he ran.

The horn chimed and rang with the tinkling sharp, clear, high notes of glass where it slapped gently against his marble side in time with the movement of his forelegs and his shoulders, the sound becoming fey and wild when mixed with the drumming thunder of Bucephalus’s hooves. Under the stars and the moon as the stallion approached the cairn, it felt as if the entire forest was holding its breath in witness of this impending moment. There was not so much as a breath of wind to whistle forlornly through the trees other than that which swirled and eddied at the haste of the statue’s passing. He stopped at the northern edge of the mound pearlescent and radiant under the light of the moon and the stars and he snorted gently, head bouncing a bit as he looked to his flesh and blood brother and cousin standing sentinel beside the bier.

“Welcome warrior, we thank you, as we thank great Lord Chiron for the return of so priceless an heirloom, may I approach and remove it from you?” Firenze asked, hope flaring brilliantly in his eyes as Ambergris trumpeted and reared flailing his forelegs in a triumphant celebration. Bucephalus snorted, stamped his front hooves down flat into the snow sending a shower of flakes and slush up around his fetlocks as he tossed his head hard the movement flinging the silk parcel high into the air with a whining rush. It suddenly arrested mid arc over the center of the hillock and hung suspended as if hanging on a hook. All eyes rested upon the bundle. At an impatient whinny from Bucephalus, the knots binding the horn in the cloth unraveled to reveal the brilliant horn underneath and the cloth drifted slowly to the ground softly sliding and twining over itself as it flowed so that it landed below the shimmering horn in a neatly folded pile on the snow.

Bucephalus whickered, ears forward and head high as he made his way counterclockwise around the resting place towards Ambergris who was watching him in stately silence, as he approached Ambergris turned lightly so that Bucephalus could slide his head and neck up over the top of Ambergris’s poll, neatly avoiding clacking their horns together. Bucephalus slid his chin down along the line of Ambergris’s mane until his bottom lip and the flat of his nose rested against Ambergris’ withers. They whickered and communed with one another in that very subtle communication of beasts for a long moment before Bucephalus backed away once more and turned side on to Firenze for a breath, sizing him up, before squaring himself off to approach, stately and solemn around the edge of the hillock. When he was facing Firenze a horn’s breadth away from the centaur, he dipped his head and tapped Firenze sharply- yet gently- barely hard enough to leave a bruise against his forehead, chest, and shoulders. The spots where Bucephalus’s horn touched Firenze flared softly with amber light for a brief breath before winking out again. A promise. An honor. A welcome. The gesture was not lost on the scholar and the stargazer and he bowed low to the unicorn statue, arms sweeping grandly out to the sides as he murmured a fervent thankful blessing. Bucephalus tapped him once more squarely upon the crest of his bent head, and Firenze felt warmth like amber wine flow through him with the blessing.

This done Bucephalus backed away, looking between Ambergris and Firenze for another timeless span before turning like an apparition and fading between the trees on his way once more to Castle’s halls. A ghostly whinny was the last they heard or saw of the great general as he departed and with that vocalization, the Horn of Blessing began drifting toward the earth as gently as the down of a dandelion weed upon a spring breeze. Firenze trotted up to meet it cradling it neatly and reverently in his arms as it drew close enough for him to catch and holding it securely as he bent to gather the precious silk- a cloth he discovered was even more precious than he originally suspected for it was woven of Golden Acromantula silk, a rare and kingly gift. He wrapped the horn carefully within the folds of the cloth and turned to present Ambergris with the golden sling.

Ambergris bowed his head and neck low, bending so that his horn was pointing slightly towards the ground and Firenze approached slowly and slipped the sling reverently over the tip of the shining, deadly twist of spiraled amber, chocolate, and gold that looked touched with an inner fire like a hot ember when the moonlight hit it just so. He whickered contentedly when the weight of the horn settled solidly against his massive shoulder and took off with a spirited spring as he raced for the ritual glen. Firenze stood still and silent, tears shimmering down his face like crystals staring up into the heavens on the bier alone until the coming of the first dawn rays began cloaking the heavens once more and Chiron faded softly, gradually from view. Firenze touched his forehead and his heart, kissing his fist and raising it to the sky with a last whisper of thanks as the last stars of Chiron’s constellation winked away in the golden light of the sunrise, that last end of his bow seeming to hold out just a bit longer than the rest, brushing the mound with a fiery caress before bowing to the greater brilliance of the sun.

He left the mound as the morning air warmed in infinitesimal fractions and the snow began to be gilded in the brilliant colors of the morning, he walked sedate and serene despite his late night as the hardy birds of winter’s day began their hesitant peeping trills to rouse the creatures all around and send those who took their rest while the sun was high to bed in nest and burrow with a cheerful song. Yes, it had been a most auspicious evening, a beautiful and brilliant evening, blessed and witnessed by the stars and the mistress moon. Overcome and shaken out of his reverent and solemn trance as the first brilliant rays of sunshine sparkled over his face and danced autumn highlights in his dark hair, Firenze brayed out a riotous chuckle, a great and booming laugh that shook him hoof to hindquarters, hock to head and startled a few still sleepy mourning doves to uneasy flight with disgruntled cooing calls.

“Apologies small ones, good morrow to you! There are some late winter seeds still clinging about ten minutes flight northwest from here for your breakfast with my apologies!” he called out softly toward their retreating agitated tail feathers. As he continued on a path toward his warm cave, the morning would only be made better with a leisurely graze of dried spring herbs and nice strong tea. As he walked steadily through the underbrush and dragging slush of the winter forest, he couldn’t help but lift his voice in a quiet, happy song, a song of victory and triumph, of sharp spears and hard hooves, of biting teeth and flashing knives, of battle and bravery. It fit his mood. And perhaps when he had broken his fast and mayhap rested a bit, he would explore the depth and breadth of the blessing that Bucephalus had bestowed upon him in the night, even now he could feel it, warm and syrupy and skittering under his skin like a live thing and he wished to know more. But first, breakfast. A big breakfast for this bright and beautiful morning after that most auspicious evening. 


	9. Castle's Fallen

Nick floated his way down into the hall formerly known as the Chamber of Secrets, now the Tomb of the Forgotten Fallen. Somber and respectful. Fred, Lavender and a fair number of the new ghosts following in his wake. He did not speak, nor did they, for they were entering into the sacred domain of the House Elves to honor the passage of one who would go unnoticed by most the Wizards and Witches of the Castle, most save one or two Nick conceded- the Daughter of Four Houses would most likely ask after the House Elves once most of the other nonsense had died down, and the new Headmaster would wonder about their death tolls sooner or later. There had been too many such journeys to the Chamber as of late, so much death and grief and loss that needed mourning.

The Chamber stood cavernous and quiet, but it glowed with warm yellow candlelight and spheres of glowing crystal in each House color which travelled the room slowly up and down the main corridor in a meandering pattern like lazy fireflies or trailing celestial bodies above the floor. The edges of the room were dimly lit, creating an eddied basin of light and shadow that illuminated and then shrouded the many rows of small mounds- some crisply outlined bare earth and stone, some with blurred and fuzzy edges, hard to distinguish in the momentary flashes revealed by the shifting between the shadows and the soft ambient light. The gathering of Elves was in the more brightly lit center aisle of the Chamber, eyes gleaming and huge- lamp like in the low light.

There was an altar or pedestal of sorts set up at the gaping mouth of the now opened vault of the Basalisk on which was set a bowl of water and a bowl of brightly burning fire. Directly in front of it was a round pool in which floated lilies and water roses, the pool reflecting the lights of the flame from the altar and the floating lights gilding the petals of the flowers softly. The vault behind the altar was a garden now, small willow and birch trees made an arbor lit from above by a sky scape of the nightly constellations and the noonday sky, at the peak of the vault directly opposed were the sun and moon. Basil, lavender, bluebells, mint, periwinkles and many more flowers and herbs were nestled between the trees. 

Tas stood in front of the gathered assembly, head bowed low, ears drooping in sorrow waiting for their attention in hushed reverence. Gathered behind him was a very small band of the House Elves of Hogwarts no more than twenty or so. Tisha, Cheddar, Grin, and one house elf clad not in the Hogwarts tea towel, but in a pair of frayed pot holders stood closest behind his wizened form, all just as sorrowful as Tas was. He looked the gathered ghosts over once and nodded before he began to speak, slow and quiet.

“Winky is dead, passed on in grief and bitterness as so many others have before her. These have been hard times, hard times and long years for all. We bury her in the Tomb of the Forgotten to bestow what honor we may for this most loyal of elves who did not abandon her duty though it cost her greatly, and granted her unwanted freedom. This most humble servant of House Crouch, unseen, quick of wit, Dobby’s friend.” There was a sound like wings from the flapping of ears as the assembled Elves nodded. Tas, the stranger, and the six closest elves behind them turned and formed a circle linking arms and humming a low sound. At once a small, fragile looking form covered in a stained, frayed, and worn checkered cloth appeared, hovering on a bed of tiny, roiling storm clouds. The circle walked slowly forward down the aisle followed by the rest of their number and the ghosts to the altar in a short procession, some of the assembly stooping to pick a bit of greenery here and there, the body was set in front of the pool.

The foreign house elf was given the honor of taking a lily from the pond, he climbed up to the alter and put the flower in the bowl of water, whispering something soft over it, it flared with a brilliant pink glow and spun slowly in the bowl. He stood quiet and grave head bowed watching the spinning flower as Tas came to the bowl of fire and dropped a sprig of mint into the flames which immediately threw a fragrant smoke into the air and burned with hints of green. It was Nick’s turn now- Winky hadn’t been given the opportunity to be buried- or not as the case might be - in the custom of her Wizarding family’s household because she had been given clothes by Mr. Crouch. Neither had she made an affiliation with any one Hogwarts House. Usually an unaffiliated elf would have their rite presided over by the Fat Friar in honor of Helga Hufflepuff who had opened the way for so many of the House Elves to reside within Hogwarts’ halls, but as a friend of Dobby’s, Winky would be buried as an honorary Gryffindor.

Nick floated to hover over the body facing the altar.

“Winky, honorary Gryffindor, free elf by no fault of her own, friend of Dobby, be welcomed to your final bed. May you find peace and comfort beyond Castle’s walls, and may you be at rest beyond the veil as your body is lain to rest in the halls of your brethren.”

As Nick finished speaking Tas and the other Elf clasped hands and the twin lights from the flower and the fire streaked from the bowls, twining together like vines of lightening, and arced to touch Winky’s corpse. It vanished from its resting place in front of the altar and a glowing beacon of green and pink light led the procession to the small mound in the Gryffindor section of the Tomb where her body was now buried. A small Asphodel plant with blossoms mainly white but streaked in green and pink graced the center of the mound emitting the otherworldly glow. She was buried next to Dobby’s mound, his was graced with a Laurel plant and absolutely covered in lumpy knitted caps and scarves.

The Elves then began coming forward with small tokens and trinkets to lay out on the grave, a charred bit of parchment, a scrap of cloth, a bit of a sponge. But most often the Elves would apparate a misshapen, lumpy knitted cap with a soft pop and a muted shushing thump onto the mound of dirt. By the end of the procession Winky’s grave and Dobby’s sort of merged along one side beginning to look like a knitted fort, it made Nick and the other ghosts smile a bit.

When at last the small band of house elves had finished laying out their tokens, the ghosts floated forward to whisper farewell to Winky. When the hall fell to silence and shadow once more, each elf began disapparating one by one until the only ones left were the foreign elf and Tas. Each leaned down low over the grave to bend their heads to the flower that served as Winky’s headstone, its petals brushing gently over their foreheads as they whispered soft words before they too stood and disappeared from the chamber leaving it in lonely shadow but for the ghosts. As one the ghosts sang a soft, sad, short lament, the song only one verse repeated twice and as the notes died away again into eerie silence they began drifting away in singletons and in pairs until at last only Nick was left floating in the quiet room.

“Be at peace, be at rest, thank you all for your service and your loyalty. May your lives be blessed beyond the veil.” He intoned as he too left the chamber leaving it warm, quiet, and resonant once more- the only motion the bobbing dance of the softly glowing orbs keeping watch over the dead, and the gentle sway of the plants in the wake of a barely present breeze. 


	10. Castle Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's having a hard time falling asleep after her time at the tomb of the Chessmaster, Castle has just the thing.

When the night was quiet once more, when the bruises Miss Granger had sustained had been tended and salved by Madam Pomfrey, when the Headmaster had since retired to his brooding thoughts in his chambers and snuffed the candles at his desk. Castle sighed. A low, rolling murmuration suffused through the hallways like an ill contented cat. Miss Granger was still hurting and still so very wide awake. 

Lady Ravenclaw stole silently into the grim gray shadows between the flickering firelight and the light of the study globes Miss Granger preferred. Hermione was sitting hunched over herself at her desk looking forlorn and defeated. The Lady smiled softly before speaking into the heavy air, jolting Miss Granger out of her thoughts.

"Take courage Daughter of Four Houses, take courage and have heart." The Lady murmured softly in way of greeting, Miss Granger's head snapped up. 

"I can't stop thinking about all the Friar told me this afternoon. It's a lot to process, this whole war has been so difficult to process and to find out that there is yet more ruin and destruction..." She trailed off and sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead as she squinted down at the parchment on her desk. 

"It is not all lost, Daughter of Four Houses, all is not in ruin and much has been found that would otherwise have lain sleeping for many long years yet. You are uneasy this night, and that is understandable. Much you believed has been revealed as falsehood. There is pain and loss afresh in that, yes, but hope and promise are seeded within as well. I would show you something if you feel up to a walk, but if not I will gladly keep you company in silence either here in your chambers or in the Ward's Solarium, the choice is yours."  

“I cannot sleep yet, but I fear I will not be very pleasant company.” Hermione admitted, The Lady smiled softly at the look of chagrin on Hermione’s face.

“Oh dearest, on your worst day you are better company than many this Castle has entertained throughout the long years, fret not on my account or Hers.”

That brought out a small smile from Hermione even as her weariness forced a yawn from her. Castle rumbled faintly shaking the dungeons and roaring through the plumbing though it was distant enough it escaped notice of human senses. 

So much was yet unwell, and much would never be as it had been before for there was a limit to what could be fully recovered after the damage had been done. There was so much that Castle could have prevented or changed had the chains been broken sooner. But there was hope, for out of the shards and slinters of what had been shattered and war torn would emerge a mosaic full of light and peace- phoenixes were not the only beings who could rise triumphant and joyous from rubble and ash. With enough hope and creativity, there would be great beauty in the broken things. Time did not heal all wounds but it could lessen the impact, and distance often brought clarity and insight that swept through and stoked the fires of hope and change.

Castle was no stranger to suffering and lean years; to sorrow or pain. There had been war and plague, flood and fire and famine in plenty over the long march of time. It was no secret that humans were ever scraping and squabbling over something and the lengthy lifespans of witches and wizards only deepened grudges and ground in grievances even as it increased the joys. Castle had been refuge and haven during many upheavals in feudal times before the lands she sat on had even been English. She had seen the victims of the Black Death come through her gates, sheltered many during the Inquisitions and rousts and witch burnings, during raids and disasters. Castle had been bulwark and bastion through wars muggle and magical alike and yet this. 

This. This war had been as personal an affront and assault as it was possible to be and there was much destroyed which could not be restored to its former glory. There was much that would be lost to human memory preserved from oblivion and the march of time only by the deepest effort of Castle’s inner workings, some for good and some for ill and only time would tell for certain where an which, for time was the greatest and most implacable oracle. And still there was hope and light and life and joy, for where there were survivors there was a way forward, and oh, what brilliant and determined and kind survivors Castle sheltered now! Castle lived and moved and breathed through a confusing spiral of two realities at once as She always had. She witnessed the despair of devastation, darkness, and death which were the vultures on the wings of war that devoured what they could and reveled in the tide of hopeful possibility and change which came in the fragile peace that followed. This was Castle’s greatest witness, the turning of the tides upon the wheel of fate, and the balance of the world in time. Life would go on, they would rebuild, they would learn, they would recover, and they would have Castle to shelter and guide for as long as She stood, and she had stood for a great long while and would stand many more years yet. There was hope. There was always hope.

Hermione pulled Castle’s awareness fully back to the present moment and away from Her brooding quiet. How she loved the Daughter of Four Houses, a brilliant witch who would teach and train those children yet to come to be less rigid in their ways than their forefathers; a wonderful woman who was still Becoming, and who Castle had no doubt would shine brightly through the ages- an instrument of change.

“I might not be fully capable of a grand reaction but I would like to see whatever it is that Castle has unearthed as long as I can return and appreciate it later if I wish to.” Hermione sighed softly with a wistful, slightly glazed look on her face, emotions rolling like mist and shadow in a complex dance over her face. 

“You may visit and be welcome as often as you wish alone or with company Daughter of Four Houses. A grand reaction is unnecessary. Though We hope you will be pleased you need not be demonstrative as the entire Castle knows you are tired Hermione; tired and grieving and angry and spent. What I have to show you may yet bring you some comfort even if it cannot lift your burden completely. It will be a gift for all when it is done. There are gifts and surprises for those who lean toward every House coming awake once more all over the Castle, but this shall be for everyone.” 

By the time Helena Ravenclaw had finished speaking in her soft, silvery voice, Hermione had set her disheveled night robes to rights, shoved her feet into sturdy walking slippers and donned a sensible warm over robe of soft fleece. Should she and the Lady come upon any living beings about at this hour in the Castle Hermione would be warm, covered, and comfortable.

“Lead on gracious Lady.”

They wound their way together woman and ghost from Hermione’s chambers through the guest wing of the Castle, down on to the grand main floor moving at a steady and sedate pace. It was still and all was quiet, the candles and lightspells dim in the halls the only sounds made by sleeping portraits and the soft brush of Hermione’s slippered feet against the stone and carpet. Many of the doors leading off to the classrooms and offices were ajar, a silent proclamation of the hard work everyone in the Castle was doing to prepare and repair, ready and redeem. Occasionally as they strolled the pair would pass a house elf still busy at work despite the late hour or happen upon a ghost or portrait who wished to say good evening but the slow, contemplative journey was made largely unremarked.

Hermione Granger and Helena Ravenclaw traveled in relative quiet despite the length of their walk and the mystery of their destination- Hermione’s natural curiosity quelled by the late hour, pain, grief, and shock; her bright spirit occluded slightly by the faint insidious smoke of dark magic and doubt. The silence that hung between the pair was not strained or anxious; rather it was the weighty arm of companionship and compassion, a focused presence and a longsuffering patience which knew the value of waiting.

The Grey Lady was content to keep her own peace, though she willingly and readily commented and conversed as Hermione lead. As they journeyed they occsionally spoke of a few texts Hermione had discovered in the Great Library, her studies at Oxford, the changes made in and around the Castle. Unremarked were the revelations of the early afternoon, the grief and anger of the evening, the still echoing crash of the Chessmaster’s pedestal in the young woman’s heart and mind. Now was not the time for lengthy words on those topics unless the girl herself brought them to bear. She chose to stay silent, and The Lady respected that. In this hour Miss Granger showed the true nature of one who was of the Four Houses, in this moment her pain was that of a Hufflepuff; inward, reserved, retreating. It was difficult for anyone to stomach the keen and terrible knife of shredded loyalty, betrayal, and broken trust. It was a rare individual who did not flinch away from the blinding sear in the torrid spotlight of truth on a vicious viper’s pit of lies.

In this hour Hermione’s pain and grief was the quiet tumult of pebbles down a steep hill rather than the violent crashing avalanche, the Griffyndor’s sudden rockslide of anger.

In a few days after this initial storm of passion and emotion died down, logical Ravenclaw’s incessant picking and prodding and pondering would burst forth, the burning need to ask questions and find answers, the ever present “WHY!” So too would Slytherin’s brooding critical cunning uncoil in her mind to question motives and motivations, seek out desires, guess at losses and gains. In a few days’ time, but not yet. Now there was only a hollow grief, The Lady and Castle were content to witness Hermione’s pain in companionable silence, willing to let the sharp facts lie until the young woman settled.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking sedately through the main floor of the Castle, they came upon a solid set of double doors carved not in the heavy, aged oak of most of the doors but a light, shimmering elm. They swung silently open at the pair’s approach.

“This is the Hall of Remembrance; it is a sacred place for it is the record of that which Castle has witnessed and will not forget. Enter and be welcome here Hermione Granger, Daughter of Four Houses, blessed and beloved.” The Lady spoke softly in that shivering whisper as she floated a few steps ahead of Hermione through the open doorway, beckoning with a graceful sweep of her hand. Hermione stepped through into the Hall.

The Hall of Remembrance was vast for Castle had been standing on this hill for a long while and by any measure of human minds She would be considered old, some would even call Her ancient.At the front of the Hall of Remembrance was a podium on which sat a leather bound book, it was open and a large silver ribbon marked the page. Hermione stepped up to read the page. In clear script at the top of the page was the heading ‘The Wizarding Wars of Tom Marvolo Riddle: Being the terms of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, and Headmaster Severus Snape.’ Helena floated up next to her and smiled softly as she spoke.

“The Hall responds to this book, you can flip back through to the very beginning of this Castle, when it was the family manor of the Ravenclaws if you so wished, but tonight we wish to show you something from this era of Castle’s history, come Hermione.” And she turned and drifted down the left-hand side of the hall to stand in front of a section of the wall. There was a list of every person who fought and fell at the Battle of Hogwarts, names engraved on brass plaques with beautifully detailed carvings to accompany them. As she slowly drifted down the hallway, the Lady showed Hermione the mementos of each student which had been salvaged or rescued from the rubble. There was a section for the children who used the Room of Requirement during the reign of Carrow terror, and one for Dumbledore’s Army each with an exquisite mural.

“Touch the frescoes or the murals if you wish to Daughter of Four Houses, this is not a museum where such things are forbidden, and as long as this Hall stands, this place is protected, an island in time.” The Lady whispered.

It was here in the hall, standing in front of the parchment for Dumbledore’s Army drawn up in her own messy scrawl that the grief broke fresh over Hermione Granger.

“He was a Sauruman! None of this had to happen!” The tears spilled fresh down her cheeks as she spoke, gasping a little for breath. The Lady drifted close, close enough that the slight chill from her form could be felt, but not so close as to make Hermione uncomfortable.

“No, there were many things that should not have happened, many things that were senseless about the last few years, but there were also bright moments of hope and joy, moments of laughter and light and love. It is not all in darkness, nor all in ruins dearest, come and look. The triumphs and the tears are both honored here, for this is Castle’s witness.”Off they went again, drifting aimlessly along, pausing together as Hermione saw fit.

By the by, when Hermione began to wilt just the slightest little bit, the Grey Lady directed her to the middle of the Hall, there was a lovely seating arrangement of four plush couches on a soft, deep rug . As soon as Hermione sank into a seat, Fredie popped into view carrying a tea service. She bowed low as she set the tray upon the low table in the middle of the arrangement. A soft breeze scented with honeysuckle and myrrh seemed to caress Hermione’s face before fading away, the scents lingering in a gentle perfume around the seating area.

“Thank you Fredie, that was very thoughtful of you.” Hermione murmured with a smile for the elf as she reached for her teacup, Fredie grinned up at her and bobbed her head a bit.

“Was no worries for Mistress, no worries at all!” She chirped as she stationed herself at the end of the couch to keep watch over the tea in case Hermione had any further need of her. The Grey Lady settled herself on the couch facing Hermione.

“This Hall is a safe place to grieve, to remember, to laugh, to cry. Feel free to explore as often as you like. If you have need of anything at all, call and We will hear.”

“Thank you Lady, and thank you Castle, thank you.” Hermoine whispered as she sniffed again, taking a fortifying sip of strong tea. A snow white handkerchief appeared on her knee and Hermione giggled a little.

“Thank you Fredie.”

“Mistress is welcome! No troubles at all.” The Grey Lady smiled and nodded.

“Never doubt that you are loved Hermione Jean Granger, Daughter of Four Houses. You are loved and cherished for all that you are, for all that you have done, for your kindness and your integrity, your loyalty your honesty, your bravery. We cherish all that you were as a student in these halls, the woman you are now. We look forward to seeing the witch you will become- for you will be great, of that We have no doubt. Castle loves you Hermione.” There was a flurry of harp like chords that rang through the room after the Grey Lady spoke and Hermione gasped through the still flowing tears feeling some unnamed part of herself ease and relax on the wave of the fervent words.

They sat there, woman and ghost, surrounded by the warm presence of Castle’s walls until the early light of dawn began to creep into the room through a previously unnoticed skylight. Hermione looked up at the swirling colors in the stained glass and sighed.

“I should return to my room, try to sleep a bit. Thank you for sitting with me Lady and for your kind words.”

“It was no trouble Hermione, none at all, it was a pleasure. Fredie, if you would?”

“Fredie hears, Grey Lady. Come Mistress Granger.” The small elf looked up expectantly at Hermione holding out one little hand for her to take. The moment she did, Fredie popped them into her chambers. Fredie insisted on helping her out of her over robe and slippers briskly tucking the now yawning witch into her bed. Hermione noticed with fond amusement that her desk had been neatened, her inkwells filled, her bed remade. The sheets were warm and fragrant with lavender. A warm wave of contentment and peace settled over her as she sighed and began to drift off to sleep. The sorrow was not gone, the pain and anger and grief were still there, but she had a warm memory to hold up against the nightmares and the assurance that she had a home, a place to truly belong, and many who loved her.

“Good night Castle.” She breathed right before slumber took her, Castle rumbled and a soft waterfall like chime sounded in her room. Hermione smiled. 


End file.
